Exordium: Freedom
by Fayth85
Summary: Sarah Scribe is now on her way to Hogwarts, but where's Harry and Ron? WARNINGS: DARK! Angst, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, Transgender OC, and real views on Magic and the Wizarding World. Don't like don't read!
1. First Reading: (13) Death

_**Exordium: Freedom**_

_**"Ginny, Luna and Sarah, best friends forever! Only... Sarah doesn't technically exist. This is the story that almost didn't happen. WARNINGS: DARK! Angst, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, LGBT OC. **_Don't like, don't read._**"**_

_**First Reading: (13) Death**_

_**8-8**_

_Death does not necessarily, or even usually, indicate physical death. In fact, in general, it is considered irresponsible for readers to predict physical death, as we are creatures with free will, and such things are not written in stone. This card simply indicates transformation and change. This is definitely a time of deep transformation, likely to be both inner and outwardly in your life. Situations, things, and people that you have counted on or gotten used to may no longer be available to you in quite the same way as they once were, and this transition can be difficult for some people._

_**8-8**_

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Poor bedside manners]<em>**

There is only one world? Rubbish. Pure and utter rubbish. There are so many distinct anomalies inherent to each country, each culture, each subculture... Papa has told me of his travels to Tokyo, New York, Rome, Rio de Janeiro, Sydney and Cape Town. None of those cities are alike, even though they are all similar.

In all honesty though, I think Papa likes telling me about his travels to tempt me to leave the house. I don't like leaving the house. I never did like leaving the house. Nope, I'm fine just where I am. It's... cosy?

"Sean? Why are you still in your pyjamas?" Mum wonders, cementing my reason for hating the outside world. I groan, hiding under my pillow and telling her to leave me alone. "And for that matter, why are you still in bed, young man? It's almost noon and you haven't even had any breakfast! I even made waffles. You love waffles!"

As much as I wish it wasn't the case, I can still hear her just fine. I hear her footsteps edging closer and closer to my bed. And I hear her sigh as she notices the mess my closet turned into... "Why do you always make getting dressed such a battle?" She muses. I hear something, probably her whipping out her wand and 'setting things aright'. _Wonderful_, all is _right_ in the world again.

"Sean, I get it, you know. I know you get lonely when your brothers are at Hogwarts, but this is getting ridiculous." Mum once again proves she _really_ **doesn't** get it. "Will you at least look at me when I'm talking to you?"

I feel her tugging at my sheets, then at my pillow when that didn't work. I just don't care. I'm not in the mood. I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to go through my worthless wardrobe. I don't want to go downstairs and hear her bragging about how well-mannered her 'son' is. I tell her once again to just go away, hoping beyond hope that she actually will this time.

"No, I will not 'go away'. Not until you tell me what's going on." She says. She's using that tone again, too. That 'to the point of tears' tone. The tone that can get me to do just about anything – from playing nice at the Weasley's, to eating those horrid muffin's aunt Fiona loves to bake.

I'm tempted to tell her – I've been tempted to tell her for years now. But I can't. She wouldn't understand. No one would understand. Well, other than Ginny – she gets it, but is sworn to secrecy so she's not much help here.

"I got your acceptance letter today?" Mum is still trying anything to get a reaction out of me – well, a positive reaction at least. I mumble something about not caring about that stupid school. Who cares about Hogwarts? Who cares about finally entering with Ginny – which we've been 'talking' about since her brother Bill entered... who cares...

"Sean?" It's funny. I've answered to that name for as long as I can remember. Yet, somehow I still cringe inside every time I hear it. "Sweetie, Ginny's probably going to start wondering where her best friend is." That's what desperation sounds like. I know it well, I've lived it.

_**8-8**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>[Ginny's suggestion]<strong>_

"I don't know what to do anymore, Molly!" I can hear Mum talking with Mrs Weasley. It isn't hard to hear them, even though they're downstairs. Why? Because Mum is a bit... _loud_ when she's upset about something – or just loud in general.

Footsteps coming up the stairs announce that one of them is coming to check on me. I sigh, wondering who'd pulled the shortest straw this time. From the soft tapping on my door, I'm going with Ginny.

"Can I come in?" I was right. Ginny sounds worried too. She's been very worried lately. I feel bad about that, horrible even. Just another thing I'm ruining; just another person's happiness tainted by my being born. The footsteps come closer to me and I feel the bed shift as she sits down.

"I know what's really bothering you. I know that's why you've been down so much lately." She doesn't mention that name, luckily. She knows how much that name bothers me. "Don't you think it's time you told her?" I know what she means, to talk to Mum about _it_. I can't, I just... can't.

"Sarah, nothing will change if you won't change it." I stiffen at her words. Ginny's probably the only person alive that knows that name. 'Sarah'. She came up with it, back when we were little and playing in my tree house. That was probably the only place in the world that was safe for me to play with dolls and no one else would find out about it.

I remember.

Even now with tears stinging my eyes, I remember. She'd told me that I probably didn't know how to 'act like a boy', that I was her bestest friend and that Sarah fit me a zillion times better than 'Sean' ever would. I remember well.

The sheets I've been buried under are pulled back. The cold, harsh winds of the world assault me. Then, I feel something warm cuddle up to me and the world fades away. The pillow I've shielded myself with is tilted and dropped back into place. Something warm kisses the back of my neck. Once, twice... over and over again. I think Ginny is lying behind me – she's the only one that would dare to.

"If you are going to hide from the world, then I'm coming with you." She whispers, wrapping an arm around me. She just lies here with me. She doesn't ask me to talk. She isn't put out that I'm being a drama queen once again. She's not making fun of me – though even if she did, I know her well enough to know she's just teasing me.

"Mum's taking me to Diagon Alley tomorrow, to get my things for school." Ginny does that a lot, babbling when she knows she won't get me to talk. "Luckily the required reading hasn't changed all that much, so I'm getting most of Ron's books from last year. That's saving us a lot of money, Mum says."

"Go away, Ginny. I can't do this, not today." I tell her honestly. Hearing the crackling voice bleeding out of my vocal chords only summons more tears... I don't want to think about school, meeting new people, having to deal with the stupidity, the idiocy and the constant questions. Any of it! I just...

"I can't do that." Her voice is heavy with emotions I don't care to identify. "We made a pact. So you know I can't."

We're both quiet for a long while. Though I'm grateful that she's here for me, I just don't know what to say. I mean, what could I say? If my parents – the two leading Tarotists in Britain, if not the world – can't see what's bothering me, if they can't understand... what hope is there for me?

"Sarah?" Ginny tries to get my attention. When words fail, she pokes my cheek with her nose. As stupid as it sounds, it's something we've done for years; a secret 'handshake' of sorts. I turn to her, I see for the first time how her bright brown eyes are weighed down with the same troubles I feel. "I don't know if it'll help... but maybe I can talk to your mum for you?"

_**8-8**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>[The talk, or the lack thereof]<strong>_

As I sit down to the table, I can't help but wonder how much this meal is going to suck. Ginny is not the type of person to offer empty words; if she says she'd talk to Mum, she'd talk to her and she wouldn't give up until she was sure that Mum understood. I have no issue with that in and of itself... it's when Mum and Papa decide that they need 'to discuss something' away from 'the brat brigade'...

The last time my parents needed to discuss something away from our prying ears and near insatiable curiosity, I found out that my eldest sister wanted to study magic in Japan. Sure we still exchange letters every few weeks, but I haven't seen her since.

Anyway, the point is that they only discuss things in private when it's life-threatening, world-altering or going to cost more money than either is really comfortable with. So, seeing that they'd spent the last three hours 'discussing', that they'd went for a walk together to get take-out from some local restaurant **and** that they're both very tense... it doesn't bode well for me.

"Mum?" I hear something getting mumbled. I can tell that my sister – Gemima, who's in her final year at Hogwarts – and Mum are gossiping about something. They usually are. Or is 'gossip' not the right word? Well, they mumble softly so no one can hear them as they discuss something of a social nature that they feel the other should know, without letting anyone else in on their discussion... hmm, it still sounds like gossip that way.

"Sean, eat up or your dinner'll get cold." Papa says at some point. I take a spoonful of whatever I have in my plate – I'm not hungry, and I can't even rightly say I know what it is I'm eating. When I'm satisfied he's no longer watching me, I go back to moving things around in my plate.

It isn't much later that we're excused from the table, all of us. My brothers run out the front door to go do whatever it is that they do. Gemima retreats to her room 'for homework', though I'm not entirely sure how truthful that is. I mean, it **is** summer break! She's probably up there writing another letter to her boyfriend, or something.

I'm not usually one for socializing, so I enter my room and shut the door. Looking around, I can't help but wonder why it is that no one's noticed something odd about my room. I mean, I've seen the room my brothers share; pigsties are better kept and usually smell better too. Gemima told me once that it's fairly typical that boys keep their room that way, smell and all.

Not my room though. No, I keep my room tidy. My bookshelf, though little more than a nightstand really, is well organized and riddled with booklets on tarot, runic theory and Celtic magic theory. My twin sized bed is always made and I have the stuffed puffskein that George Weasley gave me some years ago. He'd won it at carnival, but didn't want it. Ginny didn't seem to like it much – mostly because she was annoyed at George at the time and her pride wouldn't let her accept it. So it was given to me. I suspect that it was George's way of saying that I should give it to her when she calmed down... but I enjoy cuddling with it, so...

I've three posters hanging on the wall. The biggest one is of course the Weird Sisters performing live at their last concert Dublin. I love the energy of all the lights and how the band is so hyped up as they jump around the stage. A second is of Myron Wagtail, lead singer of the Weird Sisters. This one is a close-up of him putting on his make-up before one of their shows, though I forget which one. I'm pretty sure Ginny'll be upset if I tell her I forgot which concert that was from again – she's always been more fanatic about the band, I just love Myron.

My final poster is Cassandra Vablatsky peering into her crystal ball with two tarot decks on her table. Her focus on what she's doing is so intense that it's sometimes hard to notice that she's amused by what she sees. It amazes me that the best seers are almost always witches. Cassandra, however, is by far my favourite seer of all time. She's ambitious, yet humble. Wise, yet playful. Shrewd. And by all accounts I've ever heard, she's not one to mess with. I respect her.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, enjoying the scent of my tomato plant on my windowsill. Originally I'd wanted something nicer, like thyme, basil or Umbrella Flowers, though I could never quite convince Mum why I'd wanted such 'girly' plants in my room. How any of them got tagged as 'girl' things is beyond me, but arguing with Mum is pretty pointless – or anyone in this family really.

I'm tempted to write in my diary, then decide against it. Nothing's happened that is worth writing about. And frankly, I'm almost becoming paranoid that Gemima is getting close to cracking the code I write with. If she cracks my code, then every private thought I'd ever written would be a mere decryption away from her curiosity.

No. Curling up in my bed is by far the best thing.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Diagon Alley]<em>**

"Yes, yes, Molly. I'll be sure to tell you exactly how much it comes up to. No, I won't forget. Yes, I'm sure, positive even." Mum's laying it on quite thick, but knowing Mrs Weasley... she'll be so frustrated from dealing with Fred and George all day that she'll forget all about it. A fact Mum takes full advantage of from time to time, I'd wager.

I watch Mrs Weasley march the troops down the alley. Gemima's going with them, so I'm sure Mrs Weasley can handle Brennan and Cashel – my brothers – in addition to her usual troubles. Papa already gave them the money they'll need before he headed off to work – Mum and Papa must have discussed this well in advance.

"What say we give them a head start and we go get some ice cream first?" Mum announces. Ginny's excited at least, but I don't really care.

I trudge on along with them. Ginny's too busy gawking at all the wares on display in the dozens of windows we pass, so there's no hope of distracting Mum when she starts eyeing me again. She'd been doing that all day, just... gazing at me, like she's studying me.

Once we make it to the store, I plop onto an empty chair and say that I'll keep it reserved for us. I don't even hear what Mum's reaction is, and I don't answer Ginny when she asks what I'd want. It's not like I'd even know what flavours they have anyway.

After I no longer hear Ginny saying something about her favourite flavour – I guess they have Macadamia or Pecan, whichever is her favourite this week – I judge it safe to plop onto the table in front of me. I rest my chin in the fold behind my elbow, seeing as it hurts less there. And I just... gaze out at the people.

Busy people. Purebloods. Muggles. Goblins. I think that one's a hag. Whatever, all people. Happy people. They all seem to know who they are, have come to accept it and proudly show it off to the world. Gits, all of them. Downright bloody bastards.

"Now, now, young lady! Whatever it is that's bothering you, you mustn't make it rain!" I hear someone say. I don't really bother to understand what she means, or who she's talking to – it's rather sad that I can tell the speaker is a woman just by how she speaks. A high classed lady, might I add. Probably well educated, and quite eloquent. Sophisticated might be the better word to describe her.

"Dearie?" I feel someone tapping my shoulder. I turn, almost lazily to see who it is and what they want with me. It turns out to be an elderly witch with kind eyes. I don't really care to see beyond her eyes, as they tell me that she's no harm to me, or anyone really. "I'm not sure what's bothering you, but you should cheer up. Me granddaughter's here for her first time, and she'll not be too happy if it rains just yet." She sounds as if she's not used to speaking with that accent, like she's dumbing it down for me to understand her – something she has some practice with, but not much. Sure enough, behind the fold of her gown, I see a little blonde girl leering at me warily – she couldn't be more than three years old.

"Sorry." I mumble, too embarrassed to say much more.

"No need fer that nue, dearie. Did'ya need to get it off yer chest? Can't be good fer sum-un as pretty as you ta be so sed on such a lovely day." I can't really say I even understand half of what she said – and this time my lack of caring what someone said isn't responsible. I guess that's why she was talking in such a forced accent up until now.

"I'm fine, really." I lie easily. Lots of practice, I suppose. I even smile at her to set her at ease.

"Well a'right, if yer shore?" I can tell she isn't fooled, but she knows she's crossed enough social boundaries already to press her luck further. I mumble something about the little girl not having to worry about it raining just yet, but I'm not entirely sure how truthful I'm being. So far this week, my mood's hovered between sad and depressed, so my expectations for today are pretty low.

It isn't a minute later that Ginny comes running out bragging about which flavour she got me. I offer as much of a smile as I can manage, knowing that she's doing all she can. It takes all the energy I have to try to keep up with her usual prattling about whatever she's excited about this time.

They both enjoy their ice creams, while I try my hardest to shovel mine in. At some point Mum decides we've dawdled enough and I'm 'not' dragged to wherever it is that we need to go. Even with the shopping keeping her and Mum busy, Ginny can't help but bubble on about something or another. As much as I love her, she's not my favourite person to have around me right now.

_**8-8**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>[The bookstore]<strong>_

"There he is!" Ginny whispers. Or at least I think she meant to whisper, but got too excited to hold it in. "It's Harry Potter!" So?

Ginny drags me into the bookstore where some boy with dark hair and glasses was taking a picture with some light haired show-off with a practiced smile. After I'm ditched, Mum ushers me in the rest of the way, saying something about getting the books we'll be needing. I don't say anything, mostly because I'm too busy wondering why Ginny thinks I haven't figured out she's got a crush on the Potter boy.

I hover around some of the booklets I'm used to picking up here, hating being in a crowd more than ever seeing as this place is so full that there's barely room left for the books. It isn't long before Ginny gets into trouble. She's holding a stack of books that I'm guessing the Potter boy just gave her, all the while staring daggers into... some blond boy. What is it with her and boys today?

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" Ordinarily I wouldn't even bother with a scene like this – two boys fighting via words to show who's the 'bigger man', not worth the time. However, seeing Ginny suddenly shy? Seeing the embarrassment play out across her face as some aristocrat's pampered prick of a son lord over her? Hearing sling after sling about their 'standing in the wizarding world'?

I suddenly find myself in front of the blond boy, my eyes hard and my will sharp. "Name." I demand.

"What's this? Two girlfriends? I guess one just isn't-"

"When a Scribe demands your name, you give it." I cut him off. I relish in the cold lump of fear that sticks in the back of his throat. "I won't repeat myself."

"D-draco." He manages. "Draco Malfoy." He says his family name with more pride than his given name, he's been teased for his name in the past.

"Hm. Son of a wealthy aristocrat, successor to a long line of an ancient and noble house. Your heritage ill suites you." I tell him. I'm not really reading into him, I've not be blessed with the gift, but he doesn't need to know that. "Beware, your arrogance may well cause your house to fall."

"Draco? Who have we here?" A much taller person wonders, gently shoving the blond out of the way. He looks to me, his eyes calculating something he thinks might be beneficial to him. Oh, don't worry, I'm well versed in my family's traditions. You'll be getting nothing out of me you'll enjoy. "Ah, a young Scribe. How-"

"Lucius Malfoy. Deatheater." I interrupt him. No, I'm not reading into him either. Papa just mentions him from time to time and I can add up the odds. Seeing as a Scribe's word weighs heavily even in courts, I doubt he'll test me further. And sure enough, he mutters something about it 'being that time already' and they are quickly leaving. Male pride, something I'll never understand.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times." Mum is getting ready to have a 'talking-to'. She tends to monologue a lot when she's upset, so no one calls what she does 'a conversation'. "That's why you should always put a Scribe with a Weasley. You kids know how to find trouble, just like your father." Huh? When I get a talking-to, it's never this... to the point.

"Ah, Delia, there you are. Had fund shopping?" Mr Weasley shows up out of thin air. I'm mostly ignoring the scene now, trying to gauge Ginny's emotional state. She's mostly just checking how the Potter boy is reacting and is glad that whatever happened is over. Okay, crisis handled.

"Arthur, please, we're not even halfway there. We still haven't gotten to Ollivanders as yet, and we still need to get to Madam Malkin's. Let alone the Menagerie!" I hold back a sigh. "Come along now, we've got plenty to do!"

I'm more than happy to lunk my bag along. I really just hate crowds.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Shopping for trouble]<em>**

"Now, I know that we're all having lots of fun." Mum comments. If she's not being sarcastic, she's not being truthful – I've hated the whole trip. She leads us to a slightly more out of the way table and we sit down. A waitress comes and takes our order. Mum just orders tea for three with something to go with it – this isn't a social stop to her. "But I think now's the best time to get this out of the way." And there's the reason I've hated it.

"Mum, I-" I'm immediately silenced with a stern glare.

"Now, I've heard everything Ginny's had to say on the matter. Before I commit to anything I need to know more." I hear her every word, but my eyes are glued to my robes. I always enjoy wearing my wizards robes more than muggle clothes, because they are (mostly) genderless – especially in 'underage' fashion. You could see a thousand different wizards and witches wearing exactly the same thing, just in different colours. I love that. I love my gender neutral, burgundy robes that give no hint whatsoever as to my gender – the very robes Mum hates seeing me in.

"I need you to tell me how deep this goes. I need to understand what you want." She's doing it again. She's begging me to open up to her, to trust her. I hug myself, hoping I don't end up crying.

"There you go." The waitress places the tea on the table, but one look at me and she's suddenly in no rush to leave. She walks around and stops right next to me. "Hey. What's your name?"

I look away, hating that I let a tear slip. Hopefully my hat blocked that from the woman's view. Ginny nudges me to get some kind of response. "Her name's Sarah." She supplies (un)helpfully.

"Well, Sarah, I'll make you a deal... If you can smile, even a little for me, I've got a box of chocolates with your name on it. Mind you, it's not a very big box, but it'd be on the house." When even that got no reaction out of me, she was quick to add. "What's your favourite flavour? We've milk, white, pure... even have some of the fancier ones. You know the ones with cherries in them? Or pralines? They're good, trust me. But those would need a REALLY big smile."

"Come on, Sarah. You know you want pralines. They're your favourite!" Ginny's all too happy to relay more information. I understand what they're doing, and I mostly appreciate it. But looking at Mum... not being able to read her, not knowing how she's taking this... it's killing me.

"It's impolite to ignore someone when they're talking to you." Mum chimes in, her tone crisp and – to me at least – unreadable. I... I scarcely know what to say. I would normally enjoy any chocolate I could get my hands on, but... what's the point? The joy of chocolate only delays the harms of the world. It's fleeting. Impermanent, unlike this mask I've borne these long years.

I collect myself as best I can, taking what little energy I don't have and straighten my spine enough to confront the situation I didn't want in the first place."Thank you, no." The waitress seems unsure of herself now, almost as if the sad little girl she thought she'd seen vanished before her very eyes. I'm almost tempted to tell her how well I understand her confusion, but I haven't the will or the energy to spare.

"Sarah!" I hear Ginny complain the moment the waitress leaves. Only, I can no longer bring myself to care.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The plan no one needs to know about]<em>**

I can't even remember what happened yesterday, after that waitress left. I... must have blocked it out? I can't say. It's just... blank, like it never happened. I know that when I woke up this morning, I didn't want to get out of bed. And I didn't. I don't know what time it is, nor do I care.

Normally Mum would have barged in by now. I can't say how I feel about that not happening, but it's obvious now that there's no way I'll never be accepted, not as I truly am. I'll never be 'Sarah'.

Never.

That one word weighs on me, on my mind and heart. I'll never be happy. I can never be the girl I know myself to be.

And what's worse, I'll hit puberty soon. I've heard all the stories from my brothers. The hair growing everywhere – what, with our Irish ancestry and all. The deepening voice. The beard growth. Waking up every morning with... that THING announcing itself! That betrayer being up and kicking every single morning for the rest of my life? Gemima likes teasing them about it every chance she gets – calling it their 'raising the Irish flag'.

I can almost hear her teasing me the first time it happens to me, the witty comment that she'll come up with at the drop of a hat. Then there's my brothers telling me 'welcome to the club'. Papa'll ask me if I need a hand with shaving, thinking he's helping when I already know it won't help at all.

I don't want that. Any of it!

I... I want to be pretty. I want Mum to sit me down when I get my first period – me being scared out of my wits and her being all calm – like Luna when she spent the weekend with Ginny (Mrs Weasley sat the three of us down and explained exactly what girls go through). I want to go shopping for my first bra, like Ginny did last month. I want to gossip with Gemima during dinner. I want...

It doesn't matter what I want. It'll never happen. Never.

Never.

Well you know what? Fine. It'll never happen. I'll never live that life. So what would I need to have a perfect day? I mean, if the perfect life is not an option, let me at least have one day. It's not too much to ask, right?

Hmm. I'd want to spend most of it with Ginny and Luna. Maybe let them give me a makeover? Luna's been begging me to let her do my nails, right? I'm sure I can ask her to put some makeup on me too? Then maybe we can go into town and get some ice cream? Yeah, but it'll have to be in Ginny or Luna's clothes. I'm not allowed to wear my robes, and I'm not wearing boy's clothes on my perfect day! I'll have to ask Luna about that – Ginny knows me well enough to automatically sniff out what I'm thinking.

I know that Luna's coming to spend the weekend by Ginny again... that's two days away. I'll just write Luna a letter about my plans – or just the parts I want her to help me with – and I just have to manage two more days. I can deal with that.

Just two more days.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Insightful?]<em>**

"SEAN! LUNA SENT YOU A LETTER!" I hear Gemima calling out from downstairs. Good, if Gemima checked the mail, then I won't even have to get out of bed to know what Luna wrote. "SHE SAID THAT SHE'D LOVE TO! And hello Gemima? SEAN YOU DIDN'T TELL HER THAT I READ YOUR MAIL DID YOU?!" I can't help but wonder why she bothers to shout, I can hear her booming voice just fine when she talks normally. It occurred to me some time ago that the only times she's quiet at all, is when she's gossiping with Mum at the table.

But good. Now I just need to get through today. Tomorrow... tomorrow's my perfect day. Tomorrow I can be happy. Tomorrow... tomorrow will be different.

Tomorrow won't be like today.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Breakfast for two]<em>**

I hear Papa's alarm going off, like I do every morning. Normally I'd listen to him shuffling about for an hour before he leaves for work, but not today. I jump out of bed, happier than I can remember being in a long time. Today's the day, my perfect day.

I run down the hallway and merrily rush down the stairs. I kiss Papa on the cheek as I blitz past him and into the kitchen ahead of him – even though I have to jump as high as I can to reach his cheek, and even then I need to tug on his shoulder for some extra leverage. "Someone's energetic this morning." He mumbles. He's never really been a morning person, which begs the question: why does he wake up every morning at five AM? Not worth analysing. Not today.

It takes me little more than a minute to put on Papa's coffee, and not a minute more to find the ingredients I want to make my own waffles. Fresh waffles, not the pre-packaged ones Mum likes warming up and pretending she made herself.

"Wow. I don't even have to make my own coffee." Papa mumbles, plopping onto his favoured chair. A year ago, this would have been a familiar scene. I always used to wake up and make his coffee, I would even try my best to make something he'd enjoy eating for breakfast. He never once even asked why I stopped doing... No. Happy thoughts! This is my perfect day. I'm not letting mood dampeners get in the way, not today.

I open the cupboard as quietly as I can, knowing that others will get curious why Papa is willing to make something warm this early. It's kind of a well known fact that he doesn't really wake up until well after nine – whether he's walking around before then is irrelevant. It takes me a bit longer than it otherwise would have, but I find the waffle iron I need and notice that there's a layer of grime on it – just that much more proof that Mum hasn't made real waffles in a long while.

It takes a bit of effort, but I clean the holiest of holies in no time at all, and just in time to hear the coffee machine choking on the last of its water – a sign that the coffee is pretty much done. Jumping up onto the counter, I land on my bum so that my hands are free to open one of the higher cupboards and grab Papa's favourite mug. I know he's too tired to care which mug he drinks out of, but this is the mug I've always grabbed for him.

Three spoonfuls of sugar and some cream later, I'm stirring Papa's cup o' magic as I walk towards him. "Don't worry. It's nothing a mugful can't cure." I tell him as he yawns mightily. He humphs, but doesn't disagree with me. I gently clank the mug on the table in front of him, hugging his arm and kissing his cheek on more time. It's almost enough to remind me of happier times.

"Don't worry, there's more where that came from. And I'm making us some waffles. Just don't make too much noise and no one'll even notice." I whisper.

I can hear him grab his mug – the spoon tinkles around as he takes it too his lips. One, two, three gentle slurps he takes. "That way we won't have to share?" He wonders aloud. There's a sense of nostalgia in his tone, he's remembering all those early mornings with just the two of us.

I nod, squeezing his arm one last time. Hurrying into the kitchen, I'm careful to reread the recipe for Nana's homemade waffles – it's been quite a while for me. It takes me a bit of calculation, but I once again reduce the ingredients to the lowest numbers I can. Once again, I can't help but notice that Nana always wrote down everything with the amount of ingredients for a family of fifty. But then, she'd had six boys to rear up, and if my brothers (and indeed the brothers Weasley) are any indication I can assume that my uncles and Papa were bottomless pits that needed filling at least three times a day.

"Mmm! That smells divine!" I hear Papa compliment me, or my waffles at least. I don't respond though. I'm too busy washing the dishes I no longer need – that way Mum won't have to complain about the mess I leave behind. Or... well, this mess at least.

It takes almost fifteen minutes, but I bring the first waffles on a plate to the table. I'll let Papa have this pair, so that he can still have enough time to enjoy his meal and get ready without being late. "Eat up. I've already got another batch on the way." I place the plate in front of him, offering my brightest smile – a genuine one.

He smiles at me. That smile that he reserves just for me. I can't help but be happy in this moment. This perfect moment. This moment that lets me forget about everything that's been bogging me down. "Think you can wait long enough for me to get the syrup?" I tease him. He slurps at his coffee again; the only response he'd give to questions like that. I dash for the tall cupboard, where Mum likes hiding all the sweet stuff that Papa enjoys. She likes hiding the things he likes in places with items that he doesn't like, just to make it harder for him to find.

As I reach back to the table, a bottle of apple syrup richer, I notice Papa studying me. At a glance I can tell that his mug's empty, so I trade the half-full bottle of syrup for the empty mug and make a beeline back to the counter to refill.

For reasons I'm not likely to ever understand, Papa likes his second mug of java to be less sweet than the first. With that in mind, I only put two spoonfuls of sugar and slightly more milk. When I make it back to the table this time, I see the first waffle is missing – only a few crumbs and some streaks of syrup remain to prove the waffle was there to begin with.

I smile at him again, gently clanking the mug onto its rightful place – to the right of his plate, of course. "Mm mm mmmm!" I hear him trying to compliment the chef, but he's enjoying his meal too much to waste precious time on idle banter. He slurps at his mug again, happy to wake up this early.

As I stand here, drinking in this moment, a pang of guilt wells up inside me. I shove it aside as easily as every other emotion I have no use for – successfully, but not entirely so. Ooh! I better not let the waffles burn!

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Not fond of farewells]<em>**

A half hour later, Papa is all but ready to go to work. He's dressed smartly in his suit, his overcoat poofing out in all directions. Though I dislike the drab grey he'd chosen, I always did enjoy seeing him in his suit.

We're at the fireplace and Papa's just about ready to grab some floo powder, but we both know he won't until he's given me a proper hug. Without warning – as per the norm – he spins around and grabs me, squeezing me in a bear hug. I'd always complained about how strongly he hugs me, but I'll allow this one time. So I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze gently. Eventually, his hug loses its usual vigour, but he keeps hugging me none the less. He tries to tease a reaction out of me once again by blowing a raspberry on my neck. I giggle a little – it tickles!

"I love you, Papa." I whisper, hoping to not choke on the frog in my throat. I'd never been fond of goodbyes.

I think on some level, Papa understands what's going on. It takes him a long moment to mumble that he loves me too. His voice is thick with emotion and crackles in places, but I know without a doubt that he's being entirely truthful.

All too soon, the time arrives. Papa needs to leave, or he'll be late to work. He grabs a fistful of floo powder and intones his daily grind: "Ministry of Magic." I mouth that I love him one last time and he smiles as he tosses the powder onto the floor around him, disappearing in a blaze of bright, neon green flames. I can see an afterimage of him, still smiling at me.

I wipe away the annoying moisture spilling down my cheeks. This isn't the time for tears, this is a happy day. A perfect day. My one perfect day.

I'd better hop into the shower, or I'll be late to bug Luna and Ginny just as they're waking up.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The makeover]<em>**

"I donno, Ginny. I think violet suites her." I have no idea what makes Luna think violet is a good colour for my eye shadow, but either girl has more experience than I with makeup. I feel something dabbed onto my eyelid, it almost hurts each time but it's bearable. "See, any purple would work well with her green eyes."

I feel the same soft dabbing on my other eyelid. I'm half tempted to open my eyes to see what's going on, but I think I'll end up getting something poked in my eye for it.

It's another ten minutes of Ginny and Luna arguing about something or other, before Ginny demands that I open my eyes and look. I guess I'd just been dragged in front of her mirror, otherwise my opening my eyes wouldn't help anyone very much.

With little reverence, I fling my eyes open. Only... "Whoa..." The girl staring back at me... "Is that really me?"

My hair is brushed to perfection – Luna's doing, judging from the part placed near my right temple. My lips are shining from the lip gloss – raspberry, not watermelon, so that's definitely Ginny's pick. I actually heard Luna picking the violet eye shadow, and she was right! Violet somehow brings out the colour of my eyes more. My eyelashes somehow seem neater, and I'll venture a guess that there's some mascara as well. I also seem to be blushing for some reason, though I can tell that I'm not really doing that at all. I'll just assume they put something on my cheeks.

I look beautiful.

"Now we just need to get you dressed, and we can go get some ice cream!" Ginny's enthusiasm... she's always been the strongest of us. "Come on! Try this on already!" She tosses something at me – one of her own jeans, I think. I know better than to argue with her when she's like this.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Just the girls]<em>**

Sometime around two... maybe half passed two... we finally start making our way down the Weasley's dirt driveway. It's an almost fifteen minute walk to town, and probably another five minutes to the ice cream shop, but walking with my two best friends makes it much more bearable.

Luna keeps making weird comments about... nargles? Moon frogs? I forget which one. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but what exactly are nargles?" Oh yes, Ginny went there. I tune out the irrelevant answer – it'll no doubt be along the lines of some new creature she believes exists capable of doing things she believes it can do, purely because her father had once told her 'imagine any kind of creature at all, and it's out there waiting for you to discover it'.

"And wrackspurts?" Is Ginny just bored? She must be to ask for the back-story on not one, but two creatures she knows does not exist. I smile and shake my head, wondering how I ended up with these two in the first place – being born and raised in the same town or no.

When we eventually make it to the parlour, I'm still fighting to stifle the remnants of a hot blush. I've had at least six middle school boys hit on me en route, though I can't say for sure if they were just being really, REALLY nice to me.

"Well, well, well. A ginger, blond and a brunette walk in at once. What can I offer you lovely ladies?" The boy behind the counter asks. His accent makes me think he's from London. So what's he doing way out here in the middle of nowhere? I'm too unused to talking to people I don't know well, so I let Ginny do all the talking – letting Luna talk to new people is generally a bad idea.

Ginny orders something, though I'm not sure what. We split the bill evenly between us, though it takes Luna a few tries to count the muggle money – I just gave him one of the bigger coins, which was apparently more than enough. After that, we take one of the tables outside and enjoy the 'two weeks of summer'. It's England, so you know we're pretty much expecting horrid weather half the time – mostly because we're usually surprised by it the other half.

I surprise myself, and the others, by happily enjoying my treat. I'm surprised, because I've eaten more today than I have in the last two weeks. Ginny and Luna seem surprised because I'm not being reminded every other second that I should eat my ice cream before it messes up my clothes – something that has probably never happened.

Once we reapply our lip gloss, and Luna finishes explaining why she thinks muggle money is 'really just too odd to be real', we head for the shopping street. Ginny starts asking Luna what she thinks about pretty much everything we see – I get the giggles each and every time. Eventually Luna starts asking me why I'm giggling, but that just makes me laugh more.

I'm not really sure at what point we (Ginny) decided to head back, but we're almost to her driveway. So far, the day has been absolutely and irrevocably perfect down to the finest detail. I should have known it wasn't meant to last. "You seem to be enjoying yourself a little too much today. Are you sure you're not just suicidal?" Luna's tendency to say exactly what she thinks – social expectations be damned – makes a mess of things.

"Why would you even think that?" Ginny jumps to my defence, luckily not even looking at me. I'm sure that I'm sporting a 'deer in the headlights' look right about now.

"Well, I've read that people who are depressed for long periods of time don't suddenly snap out of it. Usually, if they are unexplainably happy in that situation, it's because they've already picked a day and time to die. Usually within twenty-four hours." Luna explains simply. "And judging from the guilty look on her face, I'm almost certain I'm right."

"... S... S-sarah?" Ginny's in tears. She simply doesn't have Luna's emotional detachment from things. Not giving her half a chance to ruin my perfect day, I hug her. As well as I know her, I can easily predict how this will turn out: she'll be running for her mum in less than a minute, so I have until then to say what needs saying.

"I couldn't have asked for a better or more loyal friend. Thank you, Ginevra Weasley." I whisper into her ear. She's emotional now, grabbing my blouse (well, technically her blouse) and crying without abandon. Now comes the part that needed saying last, but couldn't go unsaid. The promise we made to each other when we were barely old enough to understand why the stars would only come out at night. The promise that has bound us together in a way that even blood could not: "I'll always love you."

Ginny goes stiff in my arms. Her brain is rebooting, and slowly she's coming up with a (simple and barely thought out) plan. She knows she can't stop me by herself, but she also knows someone who can: her mum. She runs off crying "MUM!" at the top of her lungs and clearly distressed. My heart aches for her.

I hug Luna next, knowing that time is now of the essence. "I love you too, Luna. And I know you'll stand by her side the whole time, Luna. Please, don't either of you grieve for too long."

"You don't have to do this, you know. There's always another way." Luna tries. It's almost easy to remember how overly emotional Luna was before her mum died – I'm not sure she ever truly got over that.

"No, there isn't." My voice crackles for the first time today; still I know she can hear the finality in my words. "You better go check on Ginny. I'll need you to not see where I'm going." I tell her plainly. My logic makes perfect sense to her and she doesn't think to question it. The moment her back is turned, I start my trek to the one place no one will think to look just yet...

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Free]<em>**

My perfect day. It wouldn't be complete without coming here, the watering hole. It's not a very imaginative name, I'm afraid... but it's what Papa calls it. It's our secret place – where he'd always take me when the world was starting to get under my skin. It's on the west side of the forest, and quite a long walk... but I manage just fine without being seen.

I take a long moment, letting myself be sentimental about all the times I've come here. All those many, many times. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been here less than twice a month. Papa would always smell out my mood, and if he had the time and the energy he'd ask if I needed to get away from the world for a while. This is the place he'd take me.

The time Ginny and I got into a fight – I don't even remember what about. When I gave Ron a black eye for calling me a poof – so what if I'd been staring at his arse at the time? When Luna innocently opined that she didn't understand why my parents couldn't see that I was really a girl... that one was hard to explain, seeing as Papa always asked what had me so worked up.

Yes, the place I need to be right now... is the place I'd always go when the world gets under my skin. And the world has indeed gotten under my skin. I idly walk up to the edge and sit down like I've always done. My feet dangle in the free air, as I stare at the fifty foot drop before me. 'Watering hole'... there isn't a drop of water in sight for miles. It's really just an old quarry that was used before some muggle war broke out fifty years ago.

Wow. I'm really full of it. Here I am, waiting for the right moment to 'take the dive', and I'm thinking about the irony in Papa's choice of naming that place. Well, no time like the present, right?

Agreeing with my own logic, I push off from the rock I was sitting on. The wind whistles past my ears and my eyes water – if that's an emotional response, I'm not sure. What I am sure of, is that I've never quite been this free, not like I've been feeling all day.

Free to wear Ginny's clothes. Free to wear makeup. Free to ogle the boys I see on the street. Free to be like every other girl. And now, the ultimate freedom – flying.

I won't bother wasting my final moments in fear of the landing. No, it's the fearlessness of flying that occupies my whole world. If reincarnation is a thing... then I want to come back as a bird. I'd like that.

The ground is almost upon me. So I close my eyes, letting the tides of fate do with me as they will. And my final thought before the darkness claims me... 'Papa, Mum... I love you.'

**_8-8_**

**_End of First Reading_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Let's get this out of the way quickly. Gender identity and Sexual/Romantic attraction do not go hand in hand. Not all gay males desire to be female and not all that desire to be female are attracted to males. Sorry, that had to be said. _**

**_I really wanted to write something like this for a while, but every time I decide against it, purely because of the 'politically incorrectness' of much of what this will demand I write about. Sorry, no longer care. Don't like, don't read._**


	2. Second Reading: Four of Swords

_**Exordium: Freedom**_

_**"Ginny, Luna and Sarah, best friends forever! Only... Sarah doesn't technically exist. This is the story that almost didn't happen. WARNINGS: DARK! Angst, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, LGBT OC. **_Don't like, don't read._**"**_

_**Second Reading: Four of Swords**_

_**8-8**_

_The Four of Swords shows a period of rest and recovery after a time of challenge, with the promise that, once recovered, you can and will return to the challenge. In the meantime, the Four of Swords provides a new challenge – to stay silent and inactive. This is the time to build up your mental strength. Meditate and spend time in a calm atmosphere. You need to replenish your strength and spend time in spiritual thinking. You need to rest and relax._

_**8-8**_

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Charm, or curse?]<em>**

I'm just... laying here. The only word that seems to come to mind is... disappointment. My perfect day... my one perfect day. I should be at peace. I should be walking into the light. I should be burning in hell. I should be... somewhere, ANYWHERE but here!

Yet I cannot ignore the taste of dirt in my mouth. The smell of said dirt... that too is rather difficult to ignore – it'd never been a favourite of mine. Feeling pinpricks of that cursed and thrice damned dirt on my forehead, pressing hard against my nose, on the backs of my hands...

At first I'd simply hoped that I was hearing Papa's voice answering me. Perhaps it was some magic I'd never heard of – certainly there must be spells and enchantments out there that an uneducated witch, as I, had never heard of. The underused 'happily ever after' part of me, perhaps, had hoped that it was Papa casting a spell that might lock my memory in his heart forever.

But no. All that just is not to be. I wonder what kind of curse this 'arresto momentum' truly is. What curse would be vile enough to so effortlessly remove all hope from me... forever.

There's a soft sound, like a mute whistle. Then half a moment later, there's the definite cracking of someone apparating. Then again... and again... and... Each cracking sound steals a little more of what little joy that had miraculously found me today.

"SARAH!" Ginny... hearing her sound so relieved tears me in half. I feel her dive on top of me, hearing her whimper and mumble happy things, even as she curses what she sees as my 'foolishness'... every single proclamation slays me. Only, like my obviously bodged attempt, I survive.

Soon I hear Luna join in the happy tidings. Mrs Weasley is too busy cursing up a storm – worse than I'd ever heard her complain about Fred and George. Mum seems all too happy joining her, as is Gemima.

Everyone seems to be here... watching me.

Somehow I find myself in Mum's stiff embrace. I feel her hands flitting over every inch of me, likely checking if I'm alright. I hear her say something, but I don't understand her through the fog of my emotion.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?" Okay, that I heard. I'd have to be deaf not to. "My boy, my precious boy." She dissolves into tears, clutching me to her bosom. "And why are you wearing makeup?!"

I don't know what truly did the most damage. Was it finally being happy? Was it the hope of peace, or perhaps spending the entire day in a woolly cloud of make-believe that allowed 'Sarah' to breathe at long last? Whatever it was, it thoroughly destroyed all that kept me silent in the past.

"I HATE YOU!" My voice had never been so shrill, or broken. Mum goes stiff instantly. All murmuring that had been going on dies just as quickly.

"I hate you." I repeat, almost as if to convince myself I'd finally said it. "Denying me the only peace I'll ever know. How could you possibly be happy?"

"I. Hate. You."

_**8-8**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>[A candle in the dark]<strong>_

"No, Ginny, I don't think you going along is at all a bright idea." Mum says firmly. I don't even bother to care what's going on. It's been three days since I've bothered to care what's going on – which I only know because it's been three times since Ginny's left my side.

There seems to be some kind of commotion going on outside my door, not the first or last since I was unwillingly dragged here. And I mean just that, Papa was unwilling to petrify me, so he literally had to drag me here kicking and screaming.

"Don't try me, Fred. I'm already half tempted to send you to the moon for keeping quiet about this." Fred?

"Everyone's only been bloody shouting about it since the girl could walk! You didn't know because you never bothered to look!" Yes, that's Fred – George is too cautious with his words and tone to ever sound like that.

"That's quite enough, the lot of you!" Mrs Weasley somehow manages to outshout everyone out there. There's some more mumbling and squabbling that doesn't quite reach my ears... until: "Delia dear, we've been the best friends since our Hogwarts days. We're sisters in all but blood, and you know how I feel about family. But frankly, my goddaughter is in the room you are currently trying to keep me out of." That last part was said so... protectively. It is almost as if Mrs Weasley is threatening Mum to get out of the way, or else...

"SEAN IS N-" There's a loud clapping sound that stops Mum from continuing whatever she intended to say. Whatever it was, the silence out there is suddenly deafening.

"Have you ever once stopped to think about what's truly been going on? That if Arthur hadn't suggested for Ronan to take the rest of the day off... your daughter's **corpse** would've been all you'd've had left to collect from that place." There's a long, too long, pause. It's seriously quiet enough for me to hear them breathing now, as if the entire house is engulfed in this heavy cloak of stillness – the Scribe house being without noise is almost like a cemetery without graves (creepy with, but downright awkward without).

"Your daughter **actually** jumped off a cliff, Delia. A **cliff**! You may not like it, but Sarah needs this."

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The brothers Weasley]<em>**

As much as I've heard Mrs Weasley complain about Mr Weasley's enchanted muggle carriage, I'd never any reason to expect her to usher me up to it and tell me to get in. I look at it, barely believing the situation to be real. It's a light blue, and it looks to be quite small. Still, with the right charm, I'm sure the inside could be much larger than its size allows me to guess at.

"Come on then, Sarah. Hop in. It doesn't bite." I'm instructed. So I get in the passenger side door – it's only got two doors, and I'll certainly not be allowed to drive – and hop onto the back seat. It's rather odd really. Fred's already back there, sitting by the window, so there shouldn't be so much room left. I mean, from the outside it looks like it seats four, at best.

Knowing intellectually that the right charm or enchantment could easily make more room... it pales with the directly observable evidence that it's actually true.

Ginny gets in behind me, and George behind her... the four of us sit down, buckle up and get comfortable – with room to spare, mind you.

Mum claps the passenger seat back – obviously it was leaning forward to allow us access to the back seat – gets in and shuts the door. Mrs Weasley barely has the time to get in the carriage herself, before Fred and George get up to their usual mischief. "So George, how long before we can make Mrs Scribe regret tagging along, d'you think?"

"What's the rush, Fred? It's a four hour drive. We've got loads of time to find out." As out of it as I feel, as little interest in anything as I have, I'd have to be thick to not notice a few telling details here.

First off, Mrs Weasley would normally never leave the twins unsupervised longer than is strictly needed – even though they've been going to Hogwarts for years. Seeing as Mrs Weasley is standing in front of the carriage, and is obliviously rummaging through her bag for something, she'll not even notice if the twins set the carriage on fire!

Secondly, Ginny's usually the first one to jump up and warn the twins about Mrs Weasley's temper. Not only is she not dishing out her usual warnings, but she's trying – and failing miserably – to hide an encouraging smile. I lean into her and lay my head on her shoulder. I'd often thought of her as godsend, but frankly I doubt I'd have gotten in the carriage at all without her here.

Lastly, and to me most striking, is the twin's obvious malice. They may be troublemakers, they may be rambunctious. I'll even grant that no one should or would rightly lose track of where they are at any time, to prevent the then inevitable trouble that will ensue. They are pranksters, through and through.

But they are **not** malicious.

Even with everything that's been going on... somehow I can't help but feel safe with them surrounding me.

"Can I interest you ladies in a stick of gum?" George offers, all polite and gentleman-like. I still turn him down though.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[A drive worth remembering]<em>**

"One day, I'll look back on these troubles, and _. Quote from Babbity Rabbity and the cackling stump." Ginny reads aloud. We're doing the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet – why Ginny thinks reading in a carriage is a good idea is beyond me. Still, I'm not doing it, so I'll not be getting an upset stomach from it.

"Smile." I recite easily. I can't help but smile about it myself. I'd always thought of that story as somewhat familiar, even when I'd first heard it.

"Babbity?" Fred asks as he looks over my shoulder, probably at George.

"Rabbity." George seems to agree to whatever they are getting up to this time – it can't possibly be anything good.

**"Here comes hilarity!"** They announce in stereo. Then, out of nowhere, they both take out their chewing gum and slingshots and launch the, quite frankly sticky and gross, item right at Mum.

The first instant after the loud and squishy-sticky sound echoes through the carriage, I can't quite figure out how to react. Part of me is furious that they'd do that to Mum, and rightly so! However, the loud and angry part of me is giggling her bum off. It might not be as... flamboyant as their usual antics, but this far more risky than I'd dared imagine from either of them.

I turn to Ginny, hoping to find some kind of... I dunno. Help? Guidelines? Some kind of sign which perfectly normal reaction is socially acceptable. Our eyes meet, and instantly I can see every thought going through her mind. Her eyes are wide; she's shocked that the twins would be so brazen – they usually are, but not with Mrs Weasley just there to catch them red-handed. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curl upward and her hand shoots up to try to cover the evidence; she wants to laugh, but isn't sure if that's okay either so she stifles it as best she can. She notices that I suffer the same dilemma, so she lowers her hand to stop hiding it. Then she bites her lip a little and her eyes start to twinkle; she's losing the battle and is going to laugh anyway.

I feel my eyes crinkle a little as I bite my lip too. Almost as if I'd given her permission, the first breath of her laughter reaches my ears. Soon we're both laughing, even as Mrs Weasley and Mum are cursing up a storm.

"Sorry, Mum. We'll try not to announce it next time." Fred 'apologizes'.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Purge and Dowse, Ltd.]<em>**

Four highly entertaining hours later, we arrive... I suppose. I look around, but can't see much of anything worth travelling this far for. We seem to be in a... busy(ish) side street. There are some shops here and there, some with customers and some without.

"Alright, who wants to stay in the car?" Mrs Weasley asks, obviously expecting no one to want to stay behind. I'd not have guessed we could all be out and on the sidewalk so quickly, but I suppose that the thought of staying in the car any longer is quite the motivation – not to mention the drive back that is still to come.

I stand, looking around to try to discover where we are – though I'm certain someone had mentioned it at some point that I can't recall. Two discount muggle clothing stores, a... muggle drug store – a funny name, really. I suppose those are just homes – wizarding or muggle, I can hardly tell. No, there is nothing here I can identify as being worth coming here for. Not that I'm really complaining – it was quite funny to see how often the twins found different ways of making Mum miserable.

"Alright now, we're still quite early. I hadn't really expected us to get here quite so fast." Mrs Weasley explains. Though I'm certain that the brief glance towards Mum and then myself means that she'd expected more resistance from one of us – or perhaps both. We cross the street and walk up to... well, a closed department store. There is this one mannequin in the window, which is wearing a rather mangy and outdated suit from... well, frankly before Nana's time. Other than that, I can see nothing of interest, other than the odd name – Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

"Appointment for Sarah Scribe. We're a bit early, I hope that's alright." Mrs Weasley says. Why would she speak to a... Is that mannequin nodding? "Alright, everyone through." She grabs Ginny and I and walks us right into the window!

I fully expected... well a lot of things really. What I didn't expect, was to suddenly find myself in... a hospital waiting room? I... I'm simply at a loss for words. There's a witch (obviously a witch, considering that hers are wizarding robes, though lime green) behind the majestic white counter, who's looking at us expectantly.

"You're indeed quite early. You'll have to wait your turn, and only two may enter with young Miss Scribe. You may squabble amongst yourselves who it'll be, but if I have to step in then it'll be me deciding who'll be going." She doesn't seem very nice. At all. In fact, I'm hoping that whatever we're doing here... that it'll have nothing further to do with her.

Wait, why do I have an appointment? What's going on? I turn to Mum, mostly out of habit. "We're here for a test. Nothing more." She explains vaguely. She's never vague. Ever. EVER! Whatever this test is, she's not happy about it.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The cure that ails]<em>**

I'm so caught up in trying to make sense of what is going on, that I barely even notice how time flies. We are called, and Mrs Weasley and Mum tug me along to wherever it is that we are meant to go.

I quickly find myself in an office of sorts. There's an examination table where a patient could (un)comfortably lay on, a desk that seems curiously vacant and... a man that seems to be in his late forties. I can't say much about him, other than that he's bald and clearly hasn't aged very well.

"I'm professor Verum, one of the head Healers here. I've been in touch with Mrs Weasley about your case, and I must say I'm pleased to finally be able to meet you, Sarah." The man says kindly. I just stare at him, wondering what any of the even means. I have, of course, heard of healers – with three siblings in Hogwarts and one in Japan actively studying some rather dodgy magic; they were bound to tell me fascinating tales of those that managed to patch them up. Only, why would a Healer be interested in me?

"You seem to have quite a few questions, which I'll get to in a minute. First, however, I need to ask you a few questions to see if there really is something I can do for you. Is that alright?" He continues, not unkindly. I think about that for a moment. On the one hand, I'm dying to know what is going on, and if I answer a few questions he claims to be willing to explain things. On the other, how do I know he'll answer me honestly, and why must he go first? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I nod.

"Are you the child of Ronan and Delia Scribe?" I like the way he poses that. I nod. "Are you ten years old?"

I shake my head. "No, sir. I turned eleven this past February."

"Ah, I see. Will you be attending Hogwarts?" He asks with an obvious smile. I shrug, unsure how to answer that. Truth be told, I hadn't been expecting to be allowed to leave Mum's sight for the coming decade or two.

"I've received my letter, and I believe I have everything I need to go." I say as honestly as I dare. Hopefully he'll leave things lie.

"Then why are you uncertain?" No, obviously not. He seems curious, but I can't seem to read anything beyond that. My eyes flick towards Mum, briefly but long enough for him to understand. "Ah. Should you still go, which house do you think you'll be sorted into?"

I shrug again. I'd honestly never bothered thinking about that. I know that essentially every Scribe that ever attended had been sorted into Ravenclaw, but frankly I just never gave it any thought. Still I should say something, "That's what the sorting hat is for."

"Too true. Have you any friends that'll be attending?" He continues as if nothing is wrong with me not knowing.

I smile. "Ginny and Luna. I can tell that Luna's fit for Ravenclaw for sure. And Ginny's brave enough to be a true Gryffindor." I don't know what it is, but he just has this... calm and unassuming air about him that I can't help but trust him a little.

"You three been friends long?"

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling a bit wider. "Forever. I can't remember a time we weren't together."

"How do you feel about them?"

"I love them." I say, much in the same way one talks about the sun rising – special, awe inspiring and utterly poetic, but rather common knowledge. "They're like sisters that I don't feel like strangling half the time." I bite my lip, hoping I don't get into too much trouble.

"Spend some more time with them, you'll come around." He winks at me, obviously understanding what I meant. "How do you think they feel about you?"

"Luna's a bit hard to read these days, but I know she loves me just the same. And Ginny... she's upset with me right now. She loves me too much not to be. Though really, she's really been the only one that's helped keep my head above water."

"Your mum hasn't?" I become painfully aware that Mum is right beside me. How did this man distract me so thoroughly that I allowed myself into this predicament?

What do I say? How could I possibly explain what the reality of the situation is? I start fiddling with my fingers, trying and failing miserably to come up with an answer. "It's alright; take your time, Sarah." He encourages.

"I know she'd wanted to." I say. "I know Mum loves me... I just..."

"You just... what?" He encourages once again. I suddenly feel very small, fragile. I'm fighting to hold myself together, even as I feel myself falling into pieces. "It's alright to cry sometimes, you know."

Without meaning to – or wanting to for that matter – tears stream down from the corners of my eyes. I swipe at them, hoping to stem the flow. Futile, of course. "Are you afraid your mum would love you less?" I hug myself, almost as that would magically stop the remaining pieces of me from crumbling.

A pair of arms engulfs me. My head is gently laid against a bosom, two chest-pillows soft and welcoming. Unassuming, accepting, loving. Even being this messed up, I know it'd have to be Mrs Weasley hugging me. I nod and mumble that I think exactly what the professor just asked.

"How does that make you feel?" That was all my heart could take. If hearing myself sobbing is bad, then hearing my sobs echo off every nearby surface is hell. Yet, no matter how hard I fight it, I can't... The thought, only the thought, of Mum or Papa not loving me...

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The long way home]<em>**

We never got around to my asking any questions. Even after I'd calmed down, I just wasn't in the mood. Still, even after being trapped for another hour in the carriage with my protectors and my captor... I can't seem to get that scene out of my head.

_After the professor was satisfied with what all he'd extracted from me, he'd grabbed a funny device out of one of the dozens of drawers on the wall. It glowed red as he handled it, then he'd handed it to Mum. It immediately glowed blue. She'd handed it to Mrs Weasley, though this time it didn't change colour. Mrs Weasley had encouraged me to take it, though only Mum seemed surprised that it didn't change colour as I took it – whatever that meant._

_After the professor took it from me, and it immediately turned red once again, something was explained and Mrs Weasley was handed a small box._

Someone mumbles something, but I don't bother to notice who or what. I just bury my face a little deeper into Ginny's lap. I do remember how upset Ginny was when she noticed I'd been crying, and how protective the twins became as well. But I... I just didn't have the energy to tell them it was nothing – my usual defence. I hear Ginny say something, but that too doesn't quite breach the haze I find myself in.

From time to time, I feel Ginny stroking my hair. There's also another hand I feel, rubbing my lower back in slow, deliberate circles. Some times that second hand rests on my left thigh, as if it's tired and needs to rest. Still, I know the owner of that hand is trying to be there for me – that helps.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The modern day knight]<em>**

Eventually the drive winds down, and we make it back to my familiar prison. I hear the passenger side door clank open after some muttering and I hear Mum's flats crunching the dirt beneath them. A grinding sound meets my ears, showing that Mum just spun around on a dime, and the sound of the front seat clicking and cranking forward immediately follows.

"We're home. It's time to get up, Sean." I feel an eye twitch at the sound of that name – funny, that's never happened before.

"And just in time too!" Papa? "I was beginning to worry that I'd have to leave without you."

My head snaps up quickly – a fact I instantly regret, now that my neck is hurting from it. Sure enough, Papa is standing there, in the shade of a tree, with a rucksack in one hand and tiny box in the other. What's this talk of leaving? Is he going somewhere?

"Molly, could I bother you and Sarah for a moment?" He... Papa, he...

Ginny and I share a look – she's happy too, but not nearly as surprised as I – and she urges me to go to him. I get out of the car, but I'm slow to move towards him. My legs feel as if they'd been turned to stone.

He's standing there in a suit, only not that boring, plain grey one. No, it's violet. A beautifully bright and wonderfully colourful suit that contrasts his black hair, deep grey eyes and his almost sickly pale complexion. He's standing there, and he's smiling. That smile he reserves just for me. The smile I've always seen him wear at five in the morning as I hand him that first mugful of coffee to help wake him up. The smile he wears when I do something he's impressed with. The smile I've always gone above and beyond to see.

"Can't an old man get a hug from his princess?" He holds his arms wide, though the smile fades slightly – as though he's worried that I'm somehow upset with him. I don't think I could fly any faster than I'm running at him.

The last few strides I don't even bother taking – I jump at him, refusing to take any longer than is absolutely needed. His arms are around me in an instant. Over and over, I both hear and feel him kissing my brow.

It's not a moment later that he says, "Oh Sarah, my precious little girl. Could you ever forgive me for not seeing this before?" Words fail me. All I can do is clutch his shirt and hold on as if my life depends on it, even as I bawl. Somehow, I fear that this is just a dream, and I do not want this to ever, EVER end.

"Professor Verum gave her this. Says she'll-"

"I know, Molly. I know." Papa interrupts, but I can't tell what either is talking about. "I bought a present for Ginny – a trinket really considering all she's done. And there's something in there for you and Arthur as well."

"Ronan, sh-"

"I'm taking her up to Godric's Hollow for the week. Just the two of us." I don't care that Papa is daring to once again interrupt. I don't care. I'm in his arms. Those gangly, wiry arms that are wrapped protectively around me. He sees me as I truly am, and he's going the extra mile to show that he loves me.

"I'm warning you, Ronan. You'd best be on your best behaviour, or else! She's been through enough already."

"We'll be in London on August twenty-eighth and stay in the Leaky Cauldron. Reservations have already been made for both the Weasleys and the Scribes, so you'll have plenty of time to politely interrogate her on my behaviour."

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Just playing with some cards]<em>**

It's almost hard to believe that it's been a day – a full worry-free, trouble-free day. Papa thought it wise to let me rest, so we've mostly been in the cosy little room we're sharing. He let me lay down on the couch, using his lap as a cushion and he even found some old quilt to hide me under. It's been... surreal.

We didn't talk much, not really. I've never been one for babbling, and neither is he. So what do we usually end up doing? "The king of cups. She's repressing some deeply rooted feelings." Tarot. It's Papa's way of talking, just explaining what the cards are saying and every now and again adding some information he feels is worth saying.

"Ten of swords. She feels defeated, perhaps even subconsciously messing things up for herself – making things harder than they need to be." Yes, Mum and her 'resistance' is the current topic. "Fifteen, the devil. Destr-"

"What about what lies before me?" I ask, hoping to steer this somewhere less frustrating. He shuffles his deck once again and takes the top card to study.

"Three of swords. Heartbreak, betrayal." So much for less frustrating – depressing isn't a step up. "Ace of cups. Emotional fulfilment, joy... hmm. Odd, those two cards almost never go together."

He takes the next card, but this time doesn't say what it is. Then the next card, again staying silent. Then the next. "Well, obviously letting you transition is the only option." He mumbles.

I'm just about to ask what that even means, but before the first syllable flies, "Sarah, what I'm about to tell you will no doubt have a lasting impact. Now though, I'm almost certain it's the only impact I can truly live with."

"I don't understand." I tell him honestly.

"You know what I like to do when I'm unsure of myself?" He pauses, taking another card. "I ask myself a single question and I take a card. Every time I ask about not letting you transition, the future is dark and morbid." There's that word again. 'Transition'. What is he talking about?

"Yet, each time it's about letting you go through with it wholeheartedly, you're at peace. No, at peace isn't strong enough a description. You glow, you shine, you radiate." That's all wonderful, but it doesn't really explain what we're even talking about.

"So, I'm going to have to ask you to help me make it up to your mum in time. But there is no doubt in my mind that this is the only way forward." He eases himself out from under my head, taking care to lay me down gently – which I could have done just fine, but I'll not complain.

He walks over to the table, and picks up a box. "Molly mentioned this yesterday." He says, looking more at the box than at me. "This is what Professor Verum says is the only way to help ease your suffering – or at least the only way he knows."

I sit up, letting the quilt fall onto my lap. "Papa?"

"There are many ways the wizarding world has viewed those just like you. People who are born a perfectly healthy specimen, but do not find peace in the body they inhabit." He's rambling. He only rambles when he has no idea how to even begin to explain what he's thinking. "I'll not lie to you, Sarah, none who choose this option ever finds peace with the world. People always find out, and many will hate you for it. Unjustly so, unfairly so, but it is so just the same."

"Papa, I don't understand what you're talking about."

He sits down beside me once again, trying to encourage me to lay my head on his lap. I refuse this time. Whatever this thing is, this 'transition', it's too big a deal to relax completely.

"Like it or not, you were born with the body of a boy. Your anatomy, your DNA, your future development, all perfectly normal for that of a typical boy. However, there are some, just like you, that reject it, fight it. Your mind and your body are constantly at war with one another." Okay, yes that I can agree with. "Should nothing be done, you will develop and grow into a strapping young lad, and that, I take it, is exactly the problem. Isn't it?"

I nod, hoping against hope that this is going where I'm now silently praying and wishing this is going. He opens the box, peering into it with an odd mixture of hope and hopelessness in his eyes. "I'd hoped it was a pendant, or a necklace. A bracelet will do the job just the same, but is by far harder to hide."

I shake my head, wondering why he's explaining what's in the box – or rather, what's not in the box – instead of what it does. "What does it do?"

"So long as this bracelet touches your bare skin, your body will... Well, you'll be a girl." My heart is suddenly throbbing in my throat. "I know you want this, child. Just please, consider the price you pay."

He barely has the time to offer me the box, before I grab it out of his hands. I reach in and I take the item I find there. It doesn't look like much – just a plain, silver linked bracelet with a little golden ball hanging from it.

Even though it's already touching my bare skin, I feel no difference. "Please, Sarah. You must be careful with that. If it touches anyone else's bare skin, they too will change. Temporary, yes, but that may well give you away. And you don't want people to think you are anything but a girl, right?"

I think about that for a moment. Well, he's right. I want to be the girl I know I am, and I obviously don't want to be seen as anything but. Still, I don't really notice any actual difference.

"Well, it should fit around my ankle." I say, wrapping the bracelet-turned-anklet around my leg. I tuck it away inside my sock, for good measure. Well, that was fun. Hmm, I suddenly feel like I have to wee, badly too.

I rush to the loo, hoping that I make it on time. As I land – dry, thank heavens – I don't really notice anything major. Well, it's not like I'm in the habit of checking how that traitor is at every given opportunity. It's when I finish up, and wipe with some toilet paper that I notice... I'm bleeding!

"Papa!"

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Little oddities]<em>**

Well, as the saying goes: be careful what you ask for, you just might get it. I got it alright. The pack of pads Papa begged the witch at the counter to help him pick out, the bloodstain in my underwear I now have to wonder how I'm going to get out, the feeling bloated, the god-awful smell each and every time I go to the loo. And I'm rather paranoid, so I go to the loo at least once an hour to make sure I don't mess up my clothes again!

I'd overheard Gemima and Mum complaining about this exact thing once. The obvious conclusion, from both of them, was that this was a pain but bearable, all things considered. Neither seemed happy about it, but both understood that it was simply something that had to be weathered – though woe betide any that cross them during that time. So why is this... thing... this period, this menstruation... why is it making me happy?

Don't get me wrong, I feel miserable! But I keep smiling like a complete buffoon none the less.

"How's my little princess feeling?" Papa asks, tugging me into another hug. He has no idea what to do with me, or himself for that matter. He's been to the store twice to buy whatever it is that he thinks will 'ease my suffering' – whether by my insinuation, or his own jumped-to conclusion is irrelevant. Chocolates by the dozen, a gallon of ice cream, this herbal tea that the clerk said should help – horrid tasting stuff, and I can't even tell if it's helped or not.

"Hungry." I tell him, wrapping my arms around his middle. Somehow, of everything he's offered, his hugs help most.

"Did you need me to run to the store for something?" He offers for the umpteenth time. I shake my head, telling him that I just want supper and to curl up in bed. "How about you go curl up in bed, while I got see if I can arrange that supper?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Father-daughter bonding]<em>**

"You need to annunciate very, very clearly. Tur-GEE-Oh." Papa corrects me. I repeat the incantation over and over, trying to remember it as best I can. "Right. Give it a go?"

I point my wand at the offending item – doing by best to ignore the embarrassment that required Papa to stay outside while dealing with this. Luckily, it's just an old pair of boy's underwear that I'll likely never wear again. A fate cemented by Papa promising to take me shopping when we get to Diagon Alley – though I still guilt-tripped him into letting me buy some necessities in town.

"Tergeo." I intone. The... _stain_... is sucked into my wand, leaving only a clean pair of briefs. Well, a clean, steaming pair of briefs. I sniff the item, just in case, catching a whiff of seemingly fresh out the dryer clothing... with a scent of mountain blossoms? It's almost as if Mum had washed it herself...

"Did it work?" Papa asks nervously. When I don't answer him quickly enough, he leans in for a quick peek he thinks I won't notice. "Well done! It's p... Sarah, why are you crying?"

I feel his hand caress my cheek, right then left. I look up at him. He's right. My vision is bit blurry, and I notice that my cheeks are both wet once again. Would I have enough noticed I was crying if he hadn't pointed it out?

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" I shake my head, about to tell him that it was nothing – lies work best when you've practised them. "It's about your mum. Isn't it."

I don't move, I even try not to breathe. This isn't a conversation I want right now. As happy as the past few days have made me, I'm not in the mood for this. I feel Papa rubbing my back, trying to soothe me as best he can. "So, tergeo is under the belt. Should we try another practical one? Hmmm... how about the scouring charm? Or perhaps the mending charm? Both can be quite useful!"

"C... can't I just cuddle up on the couch?" I ask.

"Not today! No, no no no. Today I'm teaching you an unhealthy way of dealing with your anger." He says, seemingly excited about that. He just-barely-doesn't drag me along, instructing me to sit on the couch and wait 'just a moment'. He grabs two glasses from the mini-bar and hands me one of them.

"Now, did you want to go first?" He asks. When I look at him questioningly, he shrugs and flings the glass into the fireplace! "That was fun."

I give him a look, as if he's lost his mind! "Now, to repairing it. The incantation is 'reh-PAH-roh'. Only this time you have to make a specific motion with your wand as well. Watch." He waves his wand in a fluid sort of up-side-down triangle motion while intoning the incantation.

"It's sort of like writing a rune-styled 'a'." He says. I'm too busy watching the glass pull itself back together, so I'm not too sure what he's talking about just yet. Papa walks over to the fireplace and collects the glass – which is clearly no longer shattered. "Now come on. You'll feel better if you can pelt things guilt-free."

**_8-8_**

**_End of Second Reading_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Nothing much worth saying right now. This chapter is a bit shorter than I'm happy with, but it started to feel like I was dragging it out. No, Sarah isn't going to 'magically' get over her shyness, her depression or her anxiety in crowds, in fact I'm not even sure if she'll get over all three at all. _**

**_R&R, let me know what you guys think of Sarah and how she deals with the world. _**


	3. Third Reading: Six of Swords

_**Exordium: Freedom**_

_**"Ginny, Luna and Sarah, best friends forever! Only... Sarah doesn't technically exist. This is the story that almost didn't happen. WARNINGS: DARK! Angst, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, LGBT OC. **_Don't like, don't read._**"**_

_**Third Reading: Six of Swords**_

_**8-8**_

_The Six of Swords shows that you will need to make a regretful transition, as a likely result of the decisions you make. You know that in order to move forward, you must leave something important behind, and while you do this with some regret, you know that in the long-term it is the best option for you. There are times when you will be forced to let go of something to which you have been attached, and the process of letting go is often quite challenging. However, the sadness of your loss will soon be replaced by greater clarity, bringing about a renewed acceptance of change. Do not be afraid to let go of whatever it is that is holding you in the present or the past. Instead look to your future and choose the best option that has the greatest long-term potential. There are going to be some hard decisions and some compromises that you will need to make but this is ultimately a 'rite of passage' that will take you into a new phase of your life._

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Idle hands...]<em>**

Laying on the couch, by the fireplace. I'm under a quilt once again, my head in Papa's lap. I've spent the last four evenings just like this. I've found tranquillity this way each time – even with the feeling of... disquiet reminding me how different the world has suddenly become for me. I've gone through my first menstruation... my menarche... with no one but Papa to comfort me. Strange, considering I'd always imagined it would be Mum.

Mum... Is she the reason why I can't seem to find my peace tonight?

It's August twenty-seventh, so we'll be leaving for London tomorrow. Papa says we'll travel by floo network after breakfast so that we can be there well on time. Says he'll be asking Mrs Weasely to take me shopping so he can speak with Mum privately.

Mum...

I'll beg for Ginny to come too – not that she'd need any motivation to come shopping with me. Will we be shop-hopping in Diagon Alley, I wonder. Perhaps I can make it up to that waitress, thank her for her kindness in some small way. Or perhaps we'll go into London itself? What would it be like to go into the muggle shops? To mingle with muggles... I'd never really done that before.

Honestly, I've never been one for socializing at all – magical and muggle alike. The only people I've ever really interacted with are the Weasleys, Luna and my family. Of those precious few, I'd only interact with Papa, Mum, Ginny and Luna wilfully.

It wasn't always so, the way Papa tells it at least. I'd been a happy child... once. I'd played with other children willingly, for no reason other than that I'd wanted to. For the life of me, I can't seem to recall when that had been.

When did it change? When did I turn into the sullen, withdrawn person that even I myself have come to think of myself as?

...

I don't know.

I keep getting these pictures in my head, snippets of memories I'd stopped thinking about long ago. Vague notions of emotion that seem so foreign... like that fair Ginny had all but dragged to. She'd had to sneak my wizarding robe out for me, seeing as Mum was having one of her you'll-wear-nothing-but-boy-clothes fits at the time. Honestly, I think the chance of wearing my robes was the only reason I'd even considered going.

Ginny was, of course, amazing the whole time. She'd kept tugging me along, showing me things she thought were amazing, sharing private giggles with me when the twins did something that got them in trouble again. Mr and Mrs Weasley went out of their way to spoil me the whole day. Ron was alright that day too, though that might have been due to the black eye reminding him that I was not happy with him.

That day is easy enough to remember – it wasn't that long ago, after all. No... it's the little things that happened that day that I'd wished to forget. Things like the way I'd imagined Fred and I were on a date, with the way he'd sometimes smile at me – I vaguely recall telling myself that he was smiling at the way Ginny and I were giggling about something or other.

Why...?

Why did I want so desperately for him to be smiling at me and only at me? Why did I try so desperately to forget? Was it the shame of being an outcast that made it so taboo? Was it because he's my best friend's brother? Why don't I know?

Perhaps even more important than that, is why I have so much trouble thinking of myself as a girl now. I've craved being a girl for as long as I can remember, yet I can't seem to get used to the notion that I am one now. Is it because I've never allowed myself to truly think of myself as one? Was the desire stronger, or was the crushing reality too much too allow myself to dream for too long?

... I hate having nothing to do...

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Getting ready]<em>**

"Sarah, do hurry up!" Papa reminds me, again. I simply ignore him. I've already bathed, and I'm dressed. My hair's been brushed so often that it might shine in the dark.

I'm wearing my robes, a bright blue set with the phases of the moon in silvery glitters. My black and silver shoes offer some contrast, while still matching. And my bright blue bag is by the door waiting on me. I should be ready. I've don't everything I can think of to prepare.

So why don't I feel ready?

"They stop serving breakfast in fifteen minutes!" Papa chimes in again.

"Coming!" I'm not ready, at all.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The choices we make]<em>**

I was quiet during breakfast. I made no sound at all gathering our things. By now, I'm starting to think I've lost the ability to speak. Staring at the fireplace, I... I can't help but wonder at what I'll face.

"Sarah?" I turn to Papa. His eyes are soft with compassion. "It's time to go." He nods toward the urn sitting on the mantle, and the floo powder waiting within.

I take a deep breath, fearing that which is to come. Grabbing a fistful of powder, I place myself in the fireplace and drone my destination, "Leaky Cauldron." Papa meets my gaze, sorrow and worry marring his features. He mouths that he loves me just as I fling the powder on the floor around me.

All too soon, I find myself in a busy eatery. The room is dank and rather gloomy, matching my mood perfectly. There's a wizard behind the counter across from me – why do inns and such always place their fireplace right across from the receptionist?

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. Do ye have a reservation?" He welcomes me, sort of. I step out of the fireplace. Looking around, I don't see any familiar faces... not yet. A huffing sound behind me tells me that someone just entered, so I turn around fully expecting to see Papa.

"..." Our eyes meet. The scene that I've been trying my hardest to not imagine is now upon me. "..." And I can't even work my mouth well enough to speak.

"Have a good week?" Mum asks, her face held tight to show no emotion, as though she were carved from stone. I nod, looking away. Another few huffs announce company, though I can't bring myself to see who.

The whole time, all I can think about is the time Mum told me how much she hated the robes I'm currently wearing – she'd found them far too girly.

"Sarah!" I hear Ginny. I feel the ground tremble slightly with her every step as she runs to me. I feel the pressure of her arms being flung around me, and the warmth she bathes me in with her embrace. Somehow, none of that matters; none of it comforts me.

Each time my eyes dare to move, I see Mum. The fleeting emotions that I catch as our eyes briefly meet. The recognition of a familiar scene – a happy scene, if her lips curling upward mean anything. The discomfort of not knowing what to do, given how often I see her gaze shy away from mine. The yearning for the child she thought she knew... she'd always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve...

Brief though each moment might be, I see into her each time. Each time hurts more than the last. I want so badly for her to wrap her arms around me and tell me that she loves me... neither of us dares to move at all.

"Well, come on then. There's shopping to be done!" Mrs Weasley announces. My eyes meet Mum's one final time, and briefly I see the urge there to say something. Even her hand jumps up to show that her heart aches to let the words roll off her tongue. She remains silent though.

It isn't a moment later that Ginny starts tugging me toward wherever we're meant to go.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[So different, yet so familiar]<em>**

"So, has Ronan behaved himself?" We're barely through the wall that opens into Diagon Alley before Mrs Weasley starts on me.

"Yes." I say. Knowing her, if I don't answer she'll just keep badgering me.

"Has he said or done anything I need to exchange words with him over?" I shake my head, wordlessly telling her no. "Has he given you then bracelet?" I nod.

"And you're wearing it?" I nod fervently! I love my bracelet! "How'd your father react? It can't have been easy on him to deal with you going through your... well through _that_." She's referring to my menarche no doubt, but seeing as we're traversing through a light crowd I can respect that she'd rather not name that monster just now.

I smile, thinking back on my weeklong getaway. "He dotes on me." I say.

"Does he now? What all did he do then?"

I take a long moment to think about it, wondering how to explain it. I mean, Papa taught me like six spells, the basics to Tarot reading, gave me my own Tarot deck, bought more ice cream and chocolates than I could hope to eat, and would at least consider buying everything I'd so much as glanced at twice. Perhaps, "Anything my heart desires." Yes, that'd cover it all.

Mrs Weasley runs her hand over my cheek, smiling brightly. "That's the highest of praises, coming from you. Now, let's see. We'll need to take you straight away to Madam Malkin's to get you some decent clothes to wear. And the-"

I smile, mostly ignoring her mild tangent about everything she wants done. I do notice that Ginny's studying me though. She rolls her eyes once I look at her, seemingly annoyed at something. I give her a questioning look, but she just sighs and shakes her head – she doesn't want to talk about it now. Who am I to complain? Still, I make a mental note to ask her about that later.

"Oh, Delia did mention that you never made it to the Menagerie. We can't have you girls going off without at least looking around in there. You did get your wands, right?" Mrs Weasley can be such a mother hen sometimes.

"Yes, Mum." Ginny answers. Thinking back, I don't really remember much about that either... my wand. I've only been using it for a week, but I can't even recall what it looks like. "You weren't paying attention in Ollivander's, were you."

I offer a goofy smile, biting my lip a bit. "You really are exactly the same." Ginny mumbles. Now I'm confused. Was I supposed to change? Was the bracelet supposed to turn me into some other person?

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Of geese and ganders]<em>**

I can't seem to decide. Is the world spinning, or is my mind so focused on trying to understand what was just said that I can't process standing still?

Okay. Let's take a step back. We've selected three wizarding robes I like, which also had to pass Mrs Weasley's 'acceptable for your age' standards – strange, that she doesn't wish to explain what criterion she uses to be the judge of that. We've also selected quite a few casual outfits – who'd have guessed that Madam Malkin also stocks muggle clothing. We've ALSO gone through a sizable collection of suitable nightwear, underwear and night robes – to ensure that no boys see me in my pyjamas.

So what is so complex that my brain can't seem to wrap itself around? "Sarah, are you listening?" Mrs Weasley tugs me back to the present. "Bright colours are for daywear. Darker, richer colours are for after sunset. The same applies for your makeup, so do try to remember. While we're at it, lighter perfumes are acceptable during the day, but are too light for at night. You need to wear more fragrant ones to offset the lower lighting."

Yes, that's what I thought she'd said. These weren't things I had to know as a boy! Mum was usually quite happy if I'd worn clean clothes, everything else was preference!

"And I'd better not be hearing about either of you acting unladylike while at Hogwarts! It's bad enough that Fred and George carry on the way they do, so don't expect any kind of leniency from me should either of you show any kind of inappropriate behaviour." I can't figure out if Mrs Weasley is upset about something that has yet to happen, or if she's being overly stern to prevent us from ever considering it.

Worse still... why is her overt and overly stern attitude making me happy? I'd have been furious if Mum had said half the things Mrs Weasley says regularly. Is knowing that she accepts me fully and wholly as a girl... is that the reason I'm happy? Or is it that she's pretty much treating me like her daughter, offering the same love, advice and warnings as she is to Ginny?

"Oh, Ginny, that skirt is far too short. I can see your knees from here!" I feel so warm, so safe. "But nothing, young lady. If it were any shorter your knickers would be on full display! Sarah doesn't mind wearing the more conservative skirts."

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[In for a penny...]<em>**

After Madam Malkin's, Mrs Weasley decides to take us to Madam Primpernelle's. Apparently every witch in London likes this place – it looks like a sea of robes, with me being so short and all. "Come on, girls. We won't need much, just some lipstick and perfume. So this shouldn't take too long." Mrs Weasley sounds more hopeful than is logical at this point.

Still, we trudge on through the throng. I can't help but notice that the entire store is so... bright. Not just with the lighting, but with the colours. Pinks, purples, reds, greens, blues, oranges, the whole store seems to be a carefully thought out rainbow of colour.

"I love this place!" Ginny announces. I roll my eyes, keeping my opinion to myself. "Look, they even have nail polish!"

I follow, silent curses just barely not being muttered. She's right though. Every colour one can imagine, all proudly displayed. There are even some enchanted ones – some that change colour depending on your mood, some that display animals frolicking. The enchanted ones are fairly priced, I suppose – two Sickles for a bottle of twenty millilitres. The non-magical ones are dirt cheap though – fifteen Knuts for the same volume.

Papa had given Mrs Weasley most of my spending money – she'd mentioned as much – though I did have ten Sickles to spend as I pleased. "Alright, I've got what we came for. If either of you see something you can afford, now's the time." Mrs Weasley says.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[... in for a pound]<em>**

We were starting to get a bit bogged down with our purchases, but Mrs Weasley simply refused to waver from her self-chosen to-do list. So we somehow shuffle into the Magical Menagerie next. "Now, Sarah. You're to look and see what you like. Should you find something for five Galleons or less, we can discuss you buying it."

I look around, wondering what I might even consider – let alone what is within budget. Cats were out from the start, seeing as the cheapest ones were nine Galleons – if the golden digits on their kennels were any indicator. Owls started at ten Galleons, so they were out too. Rats were cheap enough, but I hate those things!

Ooh! They have Puffskeins for four Galleons! Hmm, interesting. Lizards? Really? And spiders – EW!

Aww, there's a cage next to the spider aquarium... and the black bird in it is trying to peck at the spiders! I can respect anything that eats spiders. There are some toads as well, but I'm not very fond of them either. Turtles and tortoises... no, thank you. Is that bird trying to pick the lock on its cage?

"Mum, can I have a Puffskein?" Ginny begins, though I try to ignore the conversation that follows.

"Might I be able to help ye, dearie?" I turn toward the voice, finding an aged witch in all black. I wonder at her grey hair, mostly because most witches I've met tend to dye it one colour or another to hide the grey.

"I hope so." I say, smiling. I take an instant liking to her, though I cannot say why. "Anything intelligent under five galleons?"

"Intelligent you say?" She seems surprised. "Most witches your age go fer a Puffskein, or a cat. They prefer looks ov'r smarts, I s'pose." Her tone is quite sour, showing exactly what she thinks of that school of thought.

She rattles off a few choices – most of which I'd already decided I hated. "Now, dearie, the only other beast I have is that raven there. Frankly, I doubt ye'd wan' her though." She tells me. I, of course, ask her why she'd think that. "Well, she can't fly. Not after she got into trouble with ol' Crookshanks."

"Ohhww..." I breathe, feeling horrible for her. "Is there nothing you can do for her?"

"Plenty, but frankly she isn't worth the investment. She despises her cage and has only gotten herself into more and more trouble for escaping." I give her a dirty look, hating the idea alone of refusing treatment simply for the sake of money. "I understand how you must feel, but really. I'm at my wits end with Muninn. If you're willing to take her, I'll give you the potion she'll need. So long as you take care of her and keep her out of trouble that is."

"How much?"

"She's free of charge. I'll be glad t'be rid of her, really. You can buy her cage and the potion for three Galleons, if you want 'em." I eye her warily, wondering to make of her offer. "I'll even give you her missing feather for free. My son's made a quill of it, but no one seems to like raven quills these days."

This woman suddenly strikes me as the type to sell her soul if the price is right...

I eye the raven, wondering what I'd be getting myself into. "What do you think?" I ask. "Do you want to come with me?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[A little catching up]<em>**

The moment we exit the Menagerie, Ginny all but demands that we stop for a little rest. Not that I blame her – we've been at it for nearly six hours! So Mrs Weasley decides to usher us up to a little cafe. I notice almost immediately that this is a different cafe than where _that_ waitress works – I can't really say how I feel about that.

Once we sit down – Mrs Weasley insists that we take the table nearest the door so that we can bother the waitress as soon as we feel up to leaving (her words, not mine). I offer a funny look, trying to understand the logic... but seeing as we're helped almost immediately after sitting down, it's hard to argue with the effectiveness.

"So, Sarah. You don't even know what wand you now own. Am I right?" Ginny starts on me the moment the waitress leaves – I think we ordered tea and scones.

"Now, Ginny. That's no way to speak to your best friend. Don't you think poor Sarah has been through enough to forgive her something like that?" Mrs Weasley once again proves herself to be one of my great supporters.

"I'm sorry." I look away, embarrassed.

"No, Sarah. We'll have none of that. We'll be entering Hogwart's soon. Do you think not paying attention is going to help you there?" Ginny isn't letting up that easy, even with Mrs Weasley here. "Now please try to pay close attention."

I'm not really used to this sternness from her, but I know she's only trying to help. Straightening my spine, I face her – even though I fists are balled in my lap and I can't bring myself to meet her gaze.

"Your wand is made of ebony wood, which Mr Ollivander says only selects a witch or wizard that is not afraid to be who they are. It's a seven and a quarter inch long, unyielding, and has a phoenix feather core. Mr Ollivander pointed out that it's perfect for offensive and defensive charms and transfiguration." She offers all the information in one go. It takes a moment to sort through it all, trying to assimilate it.

I nod, mostly to show that I understand – what she said at least, it may take a while to actually sort through what all of it means for me. "He also said that you were the first Scribe he'd ever sold a wand to that might have made them a decent dueller." I shrug, not really understand what that has to do with anything.

"Thank you." I say. I wish I could have said more. Perhaps how grateful I am that Ginny never left my side through this madness – at least, not if she could help it. As usual, the words I need to say are huddled to the tip of my tongue, yet refuse to take that final step into the world. I really am sorry about that...

"Alright, now that that's out of the way. I believe our waitress is on her way with the tea." Mrs Weasley points out.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[The boy of legend]<em>**

Back at the Leaky Cauldron. I'm sent up to the room I'll be sharing with Ginny and Gemima to wash up, so I take the chance to change. I decide to go for a button down white blouse with long sleeves and a sleeveless black dress that comes down just (JUST) under my knees. To finish the look, I select a pair of white socks and the Mary Janes – this pair has once inch heals with a thick strap to keep it in place. I rather like the look – even though I prefer more colour and flair – but I don't have a cute bag to go with it. Ginny is quick to compliment me on the outfit, but I know better than to expect much from anyone else.

I try to think of every reason I can to simply skip dinner, not yet feeling ready to face the firing squad. Unfortunately, seeing as Mrs Weasley had spent all day with me, no one would believe my suddenly having a headache or tummy ache – my faithful companions after a chocolate-binge.

With less than five minutes before someone is sent up to fetch us – Papa had mentioned how long I tend to take getting ready these days – I try one last time. "What about falling down the stairs?"

"Sarah, you'll be fine! It's just another two days and we'll be on our way to school. You can do this!" No, apparently even that won't work. Can't I just stay here for those 'two days', I can go that long without eating and drinking! "Come on, or Mum'll get upset."

So, with great trepidation, we make our way down to the dining area. I'm seated between Mum and Gemima – naturally at Mrs Weasley's insistence. Mum mostly ignores me, wondering aloud what she'll be ordering for me. Gemima wonders (even louder than Mum) if I will bother eat any of it. I bite back a groan. It's already shaping up to be a horrid evening.

Ginny and I share a look – she's already sorry for not letting me stay upstairs.

I keep to myself for the most part. I don't react when Gemima starts gossiping with Mum about how slow the waiter is, nor when Mum points out that she'd expected no less from 'someone like him'. Strange, they are not usually this cruel... or are they?

They don't stop there either. Complaints are soon (politely) flying every which way: the food being horrid, the lighting being all wrong, the prices being unfair, the water having something in it, the filthy cutlery, the 'rabble' that had been let in. No one and nothing was safe from their sharp tongues...

No one but I, that is.

It's hard to decide if I should be insulted that they pretty much ignore me, or grateful that I haven't been on the receiving end of whatever's irked them.

"Sirius, it's good to see you again." Mum says at some point. I can't say I'm all too interested in following the details anymore. I just want to go upstairs and get away from everyone.

"I wish I could say the same, Delia. Come, let's-" I know the voice at least, he's been by the house to visit some time ago. I can't really remember when that was, or what had taken place, but I do remember an argument over something or other.

"Sirius, come now. We're all hungry. Besides, Arthur and Molly are here too." A woman points out. No, not just a woman, a lady. I can hear not only elegance in her voice, but a certain level of education as well.

"Ah, Arthur! I didn't even see you there!"

"Sirius! It's been too long! And you brought the family too! Tell me you're staying." Mr Weasley is clearly on better terms with whoever it is than Mum is – she can be a bit... harsh from time to time (apparently).

"Of course we are. It's much easier to get to King's Cross from here. Ronan! Tell me, how do you manage to stay married to that woman?!" I try not to react, I really do. Hearing Mum huffing and puffing so nearby doesn't make it easy though.

"Yes, Tom, we'll want our table joined to this group's. Away from that end though, if you don't mind." Judging from the indignant huff, I'm guessing he meant where I currently find myself.

"Sorry, Harry. You'll have plenty of time to catch up with Ron later." The lady's voice says that one... Wait, Harry? As in Harry Potter? As in, the boy Ginny can't stop going on and on about? It's not that I don't understand why she'd be taken with him – he's famous and happens to be Ron's best friend (as far as I can tell). "Arthur, Ronan. I was wondering if either of you'd complain if Carrie could bunk with your girls?"

"I'm sure Ginny and Sarah would love to! And Harry will no doubt want to bunk with Ron." Mrs Weasley decides for us. I hear Gemima huff though – Mum immediately says that she can stay with her. Well, at least I won't have to deal with Gemima...

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[A little hope]<em>**

Supper couldn't have ended any weirder than it did – or tenser for that matter. So when we finally get back to our room, I happily slam the door behind me. Dealing with a complete stranger for the rest of the evening, not a problem if it meant not dealing with those I'd just left behind.

"Someone's in a foul mood." What was her name...? Carrie?

"Quite the contrary." I say, as feeling of relief washing over me.

"Sorry, introductions. Sarah, Carus Black. Carrie, Sarah Scribe." Ginny announces. Black? I thought... whatever. Some things are just not meant for me to understand. I smile and curtsey, but offer no further words. I'm too tired to have to really deal with this anyway – as much as this is more preferable than the alternative, it's still not ideal.

"No... it can't be. You look exactly like that boy in the pictures from Ginny's room. Other than your outfit, obviously." Carrie says, clearly not being one easily led off the trail. "You're a switch?"

"Carrie!" Ginny's already in defence mode, and Carrie does look sorry. From Ginny's reaction, I'm guessing 'switch' is a crude way to call people like me... I just really am in no mood for this.

"Yes, I'm a 'switch'. Anything else?" I offer just enough attitude to show that I'd rather drop the subject, but I know better than to try to lie after being found out so easily. Is it too much to hope that we can just leave it at that?

"So... you'll both be entering Hogwart's this term as well?" Carrie changes the subject. I can't help but notice the appraising look she gives me. Still, she's not being outright disrespectful – that's a start.

"Of course we will. Luna will be coming as well. You remember her, right? Luna Lovegood?"

"The... blond?" Okay, obviously I can just zone out and get ready for bed.

**_8-8_**

**_End of Third Reading_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Oh dear. It seems I've messed with a lot of cannon facts... Sirius not being in Azkaban... and who's the girl and woman he travels with? Obviously Harry is with them too, what's the deal? I can be such a stinker, can't I? _**

**_Well, until next time, Darlings! R&R!_**


	4. Fourth Reading: Eight of Cups

_**Exordium: Freedom**_

_**"Sarah Scribe is now on her way to Hogwarts, but where's Harry and Ron? WARNINGS: DARK! Angst, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, Transgender OC, and real views on Magic and the Wizarding World. Don't like don't read!"**_

_**Fourth Reading: Eight of Cups**_

_**8-8**_

_The Eight of Cups indicates that you are disappointed enough to walk away from everything you have built up so far. It could indicate a disappointment in love or dissatisfaction with material success. It could also indicate that you have over-extended yourself to the point of emotional exhaustion. Even though you have already come so far, you feel that you can no longer go on and your only choice is to walk away from the situation. You feel disappointed with yourself but you know that this is the right thing to do before you completely burn out. You may also be feeling that you are giving too much and not getting nearly enough in exchange._

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[A one-way ticket]<em>**

Happiness, sorrow, excitement, loss, promises being made, letters to be written. It's difficult to wade through the sea of people and their emotional farewells. Still, this is preferable to the idiocy I've suffered through these past days. I've not exchanged any words with most of the people I've known my whole life. What would be the point?

No, I'll not be rehashing that tragedy. Not now.

"I'll write to you, every day." I whisper into Papa's embrace. I'm not even certain he can hear me; not that it matters. He pushes me back slightly and kneels before me – it's the only way for him to comfortably come down to my height.

"Serenity Clementine Scribe." He says. "Learn your lessons well, but do not forget that you are there to grow as well. I look forward to seeing the lady that comes back to me." We share another hug – this one tearier than the last.

Fred and George help me with my trunk – they'd already stowed theirs, and Ginny's as well. So now, all that's left is boarding... I suppose. I do hug Mr and Mrs Weasley, but neither seems too surprised that I can't croak out a proper farewell.

One final chance... I turn to Mum, who seems quite busy with not noticing me. Fine. I won't offer her another.

I run to Papa again, hugging him more fiercely than ever before. He picks me up, making a show of hugging me and blowing raspberries in the nape of my neck. "All aboard." He whispers, kissing my brow one last time.

Boarding the train, I find Ginny waving me over to her. We squeeze ourselves through the crowd at the window just as the whistle blows. The doors slam shut just as I make eye contact with Papa. He's waving at me. Me. Not my siblings – who didn't even get on the same carriage as us. Not even Ginny – who I wouldn't have begrudged the attention. I blush and offer a teary smile, waving a little – I don't want to hit Ginny, after all.

The train starts pulling away. Papa is standing perfectly still, so I doubt he'll be running to keep up with us. I see pride and love shining in his eyes. He mouths that he loves me and blows one final kiss – I'm quick to do the same. It isn't a moment later that he's swallowed up in the crowd. I continue to wave anyway; half hoping he'll see me.

It isn't until we pull out of the station that Ginny tugs me toward wherever we'll spend the train ride.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Missing persons?]<em>**

The compartment I find myself in is somewhere in the middle of the carriage. Luckily it's a private(ish) compartment, so once the door is closed I can almost pretend we're the only ones on the train. I'm not sure why that helps, but it does make me feel a good deal better. After all, all of my favourite people are here.

Ginny is already babbling on about something she's been meaning to babble on about. Fred and George are... well, I suppose they are planning their next big prank. Luna is trying to squeeze in her quirky questions whenever Ginny stops to breathe – who is really is quite excitable right now. The company is so good I barely take notice of the raven haired Carrie sitting by the window.

"Now that you mention it, I haven't seen either of them since passing through the barrier." Luna says. Suddenly everyone is worried. I shake my head, wondering what I'd missed this time. "Sarah, you haven't seen Harry or Ron, have you?"

I think back... no. Not really at least. The last I'd seen them was when Harry suddenly had to stop to tie his shoelaces in King's Cross. I believe Ron had slowed to not leave Harry behind. I shake my head and mumble an apology.

"They can't have been left behind!" Ginny declares, clearly distressed. I bite my lip and look away, trying not to bring too much attention to her missing Potter.

"Don't fret. I'm sure they're just on another carriage. We'll see them tonight." Carrie seems confident at least.

I go back to reading my booklet on the Tarot. It's not that I'm not worried; anything that affects Ginny affects me. I just know that there's nothing I can do about it. And that's besides the fact that even if they'd missed the train, then Papa, Mr and Mrs Weasley, well all the grownups on the platform would easily know what to do should they encounter the two wayward boys. A non-issue in other words.

"Sarah, my brother's missing!" Ginny must really be worried, if she's acting up toward me. I close my booklet and stow it away; mostly to show that she has my undivided attention.

"Ginny, should they have missed the train, what is the most logical thing to happen?" I ask. I look her in the eyes, showing how calm and assured I feel about the only logical answer to that question. "They'll run into your parents, or my parents, or Carrie's parents. Do you think it worth worrying when they couldn't be any safer?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Anything off the trolly?]<em>**

Hours trickle past. Ginny's already made a pass through the entire train to check for the wayward pair. She even returned with another – who'd introduced herself as Hermione Granger. No luck with Potter and what's-his-face though.

"Aaaaanything off the trolley?!" I hear from somewhere. Ms Granger seems excited at hearing that, though George and Fred seem a bit uneasy for some reason. I don't really bother with much of anything, not when there's a good book to read.

"A beginner's guide to Tarot? Are you into Tarot, Serenity?" Ms Granger asks. Everyone in our compartment looks a little uncomfortable now.

"I wonder how you would even know that name." I intone, not looking up from my reading. "I'd been introduced as Sarah." I'm partly truthful on the matter. She no doubt read it off my trunk, but I know it to read 'Serenity Scribe'. I'm more than a little curious as to who this Hermione Granger is.

She points wordlessly above my head, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Yes, she'd read my trunk. "Curious. That you'd know my familial name, yet not know my connection to the Tarot. You must be a muggle-born."

"A mudblood, pure and simple." A voice announces, loud enough for everyone in our compartment, the corridor and likely even several compartments over. I know this voice. All too well, I'm afraid. Without even looking up, I can feel the tension in the room skyrocket.

"Draco Malfoy. We meet again." I intone, half hoping he can pick up the irritation in my tone and goes away. From the surprised twitch I see from the corner of my eye, I'm guessing not.

"I-it's you." He stutters. Deciding to get this over with quickly, I once again close my book and gaze at him. Composing himself quickly, though not quickly enough, he decides to play the 'well-mannered' card. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I am Draco Lucius Malfoy, and you are...?"

"Uninterested." I say.

"..." He seems to be taking a moment, letting it germinate in his skull – he no doubt has the room. "..." Well said, young Malfoy. Well said.

"Aaaaanything off the trolley?!"

"..." Is he still not sure what is going on? He's kind of just... well, zoning out really.

Truthfully I'm not even sure if anything would help, but I'd rather not be staring at him all day. I snap my finger to wake him up. "Malfoy. Trolley. Pumpkin pasty. Go." And... he's gone. Wait... no, he's just dashed past up. A little too quickly – if he'd really gotten anything off the trolley, it's unlikely he'd taken the time to care what it was.

"So. Muggle-born?" I turn back to Ms Granger.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Rather awkward, really]<em>**

More time trickles by. Ms Granger seems... intrigued at how easily I unnerved Malfoy. Unfortunately, that means she's been peppering me with questions at a rate that even annoyed Luna– jealousy perhaps? I've ignored her, but I can tell she's not in the least deterred.

If that isn't bad enough, there's been one solicitor after another coming to 'not' see what affected Malfoy so badly. One girl in particular stands out, though I cannot say why – she'd introduced herself as Pansy Parkinson? She'd taken one look at my trunk and smiled about some private joke, before leaving without another word.

Seeing another movement from the corner of my eye, I look up. I'm already quite irritated, being unused to so many trying to speak with me so often. So, when I find myself looking out the window... and therefore out of the train... I start to wonder if I'm not more tired than I'd previously thought.

"..." I could have sworn I saw something light blue pass through my field of vision. But... it came from the right, towards the window. The door's on the left...

Looking around, I notice nothing in view bears any resemblance to the shade of blue from whatever object caught my eye. I blink. "Sarah? Something the matter?" Ginny asks. I blink again, wondering what it is I just saw.

"I'm... not sure." I shake it off, going back to my booklet. I'd switched to Celtic Ritual Magics, which Papa had bought while we were in Godric's Hollow.

Not a moment later I hear the train's whistle going bananas! There is something out there! "What's going on?" Ms Granger asks. I don't have anything of value to say, so I mostly just keep my senses sharp. I can almost swear I hear... Ron? Is he shouting something about 'hold on'? I shake my head, trying to clear away the clutter. Oddly, I don't hear the voice a second time. I must have imagined it, or something.

Taking in those around me, I notice that the both boys present are sitting on either side of the door.

"Fred, right?" I turn to the Weasley twin next to me – they'd both been silent for a while so it's a bit harder to tell who's who. He raises an eyebrow, clearly wondering what his name has to do with anything (a 'George response' if I'd ever seen one). I shrug and lay my head in his lap, telling him to wake me when we get there. I do take a moment to tuck my skirt properly though – even though only girls might have half a chance, I'd still rather not flash anything intimate just now.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[New scenery]<em>**

"Firs'-years! First'-years over here!" I look over to my left, seeing a giant of a man waving a lantern... of sorts. At least, I think it's a lantern. It gives light, and it's not burning the hand holding it... but it's like nothing I've ever seen. I'm quite used to Papa using his wand for light, so... "Firs'-years! Don' be shy now!"

I turn to the twins, once again unsure which is which from all the hubbub of getting off the train. "It's just Hagrid. Go on now, we'll see you later." That sounds like the way George would say it, but Fred might as well if he were tired. I'm unsure which one it is, but I trust both enough to take that at face value.

Ginny is the first to stride over to the (more than a little intimidating) man with his lantern. I try to keep up, but I'm also quite busy trying to not notice all the odd looks I'm getting. I think even Carrie is getting a few zealous 'glances' of her own.

I cannot say for certain why Carrie's receiving all the attention; though I think she hides her dislike for it far better than I. In my case, it's the telltale Scribe characteristics. Straight, black hair. Rectangular 'reading' glasses. Elongated nose. And the angular features don't really help any – especially the jutting cheek bones and the sickly paleness of our skin. In all the family paintings at home, all of them look almost exactly alike. Even to me! And I've spent my whole life talking to them, and studying their features and personalities!

It matters not.

Though, I must admit to being more than happy to follow along down the shady path. Anything to be away from the prying eyes. So much so, that I don't even complain when Ginny tugs me into a boat at the end of the path. Nor do I complain about the inky darkness surrounding me. Nor the fact that Carrie and some... boy climb in behind us. Poor Luna is left to fend for herself.

I feel bad for Luna. She's almost as bad with new people as I.

Not ten minutes later, all the boats launch as one. I hear a few surprised shrieks here and there. Not from myself though; I just cling to Ginny as if my life depends on it. She is holding our lantern after all.

The fact that my eyes are suddenly wide as dinner plates is not as readily explained away.

Okay, Sarah... breathe. It's okay. It's okay. Ju-

"Whooooooooa." I drawl breathily. In the distance stands a castle, majestically lit up as if it wears the very stars. Yet it seems to stand proudly on its perch, reaching out for those very same stars. It's huge, and makes me feel very small. Insignificant even. I pray this isn't a taste of things to come...

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Welcome to Hogwarts]<em>**

Hagrid leads us up to the castle courtyard – though he calls it the 'lawn'. I can hear quite a few fellow first-years chatting excitedly among themselves, not the least of which are Ginny and Luna. Carrie seems composed, though even she is spellbound.

I just take it all in stride. Well, not exactly 'in stride'... more like I've already short circuited and want nothing more to get this over with.

Through a massive portcullis, through enormous doors, and into the castle we're led. With each passing moment, the feeling of smallness intensifies. Even the staircases somehow aid the feeling.

On the top stairs is a witch, gracefully awaiting us with one hand perched on the railing beside her. Her robes, a deep emerald with long sweeping sleeves, are immaculately clean and pressed to perfection. Even her crooked hat seems somehow neat and orderly, never mind its tilt to one side. The way she held her oval shaped glasses, or perhaps it was how she leered over them at us; she has the air of a lady that knows how things ought to be. And the tight smile shows that she has the spine to ensure it is done just so.

"Evenin', Professor McGonagall. Firs'-years." Hagrid says. He doesn't seem to be too chatty – or am I just not paying any attention?

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here." She says. Hagrid nods and walks up the final few stairs and into... well, whatever awaits beyond the doors he just slammed behind him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She explains. For some reason she glances at a few people here and there, though I cannot say why.

"I will return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." With that, she marches through the doors, careful to ease it closed behind her.

What happens when you as a group of preteens to wait quietly? They of course start excitedly babbling about something or other. I shake my head, not bothering to follow what any of them are even saying. Ginny and Luna are discussing the suspicious lack of a Potter and his Weasley sidekick though.

The door creaks open once again, revealing the same professor and her stern glare – no doubt she'd hoped we'd be the group to actually listen. "We're ready for you."

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Sorted out]<em>**

On entering the Great Hall, the first thing I notice is that I hate entering when being expected. Hundred of pairs of eyes leer our way as we march forward. Seriously, HUNDREDS! I try not to shy away, but I cannot say for certain if it's worked.

"Make a line up here." Professor McGonagall instructs, indicating just in front of the bottommost stair to near the rear of the room. Behind her I see important looking adults, all sitting and watching us intently. For some reason, I get the impression that they are looking to see if they can spot which house we'll belong to at a glance. "Now when I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

It's almost comical that she uses instruction as a means to quiet a group. Almost, because I somehow doubt all first-years were even paying attention while she spoke. "Lucivera Avery." A prim and proper prat of a girl saunters up the three steps and sits. Obviously she expects the professor to place the hat on her head, though I cannot say if that was the point all along seeing as the hat was out of her reach.

"Slytherin!" Hmm, talking hat. Not that weird.

"Carus Black." The room goes silent. Yes, yes. Of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I've been putting up with that hogwash for days already!

"Better be... Gryffindor!" That was a bit of a shock. I expected another Slytherin.

"Collin Creevey." Okay... boring...

"Luna Lovegood." She gets sorted into Ravenclaw. No surprise there.

More names, though not so many as I shouldn't be able to remember them all. I just can't bring myself to care. Until finally: "Serenity Scribe." Is the professor eyeing me a little closer now? Weird.

I walk up and sit on the stool with little reverence. Unfortunately that means I now face the ENTIRE SCHOOL. I keep my cool, outwardly, but on the inside I am falling apart.

"Hmm, what have we here?" Huh? Up until now the hat's mostly been making thinking noises and shouting houses. Why is it suddenly speaking? "Interesting. You're like no Scribe I've ever met before. You've got the smarts, no doubt there. Might make an interesting Ravenclaw. Peculiar though."

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"You're the first switch of the house of Scribe, though not the first switch I've seen. Many never come out at all, choosing to hide it from the world." It continues. My head starts spinning from the implications. "No, the best place for you would be,"

"Gryffindor!" All colour drains from my face, not that anyone is likely to notice. Ginny and I exchange a look. She's excited for me; I'm a clip south of panicking. The hat is lifted from my head and I make my way to... ah, the red and gold spangled table... and back to Carrie. Oh joy.

Luckily Ginny was quick to join me at the Gryffindor table – I even shoved the boy beside me to make space for her.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Perfect Percy]<em>**

After everyone had eaten their fill – and Potter and Ron finally show up, only to be escorted away by some tall and obviously irritable man – it's time to take the ten cent tour. Percy Weasley is happy to announce that we, the first-year Gryffindors, are to follow his lead.

"He's really hamming it up." Ginny points out, nodding toward her brother. I am inclined to agree. Percy's never been my favourite person.

"She doesn't talk much, does she." Carrie wonders aloud. I roll my eyes, teasing a giggle out of Ginny. Why waste words when a well timed eye-roll gets the desired effect?

I honestly can't tell if everyone was quite the rest of the way, or if I just tuned them all out. Either way, we eventually make our way up to the seventh floor... how these people manage to keep flapping their gums up seven flights of stairs...

"Password." I look up ahead and see this fat lady in a painting. She's wearing a gorgeous rose coloured Victorian dress that poofs out on all sides. Her hair seems to be braided across her brow, making it impossible to guess how long it really is.

"Wattlebird." Percy answers. The fat lady beckons us to enter with a wave of her hand, as her painting swings open. I hear some of the muggle-borns announce how cool they think all this is, but really I've not come across much that is entirely unfamiliar.

We all make our way through the corridor hidden behind the painting, with Percy taking the lead – wasn't there another Prefect with us? I haven't heard one peep out of her thus far... I think.

Once inside, I notice a warm and comfortable room. It feels... cosy. "Gather round here please. Come on! Alright. You should all remember the password, it's the only way to enter our common room. And don't tell it to anyone. If you've forgotten it, just come ask me." Yes, please ask Perfect Percy everything you need to know. "Now, the boys dormitories are up the stairs and to right. Girls, same and to the left. You'll find that your things have already been brought up." And Ginny storms past him, tugging me along.

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Roommates, oh joy]<em>**

Of course, seeing as everyone else had already been given a chance to claim a bunk, that means the first-years get to fight over what's left. Something Ginny seems to be all too aware of. So she's rushing me along to get the pick of the litter, so to speak. We find a room quick enough – third floor up, maybe that's why they call it Gryffindor TOWER! I hate stairs...

"Hi Hermione. Are these bunks taken?" Ginny asks, mostly to be polite. She's already tossed her hat on the nearest bed to claim it.

"Oh, uh... umm hi?" Ms Granger notices the hat and rolls her eyes. "Make yourself at home." She immediately goes back to her reading, though I can't help but wonder why she'd be the only one in this room... I mean, four large comfortable beds, and only one girl claims it?

"Come on, Sarah. Pick a bunk and come help me with my trunk." I'm instructed. I roll my eyes, but don't hide a smile. I take the bunk nearest to hers, and follow her without a word.

It takes little more than a minute to get both hers and my trunks into our new room. We set them down to the foot of our now claimed four-poster beds and set about unpacking. Well, sort of at least. I leave my clothes neatly folded in my trunk, but I take out my booklets and stack them neatly in the dresser next to my bed. My wand is place atop my dresser.

"Aren't you going to put away your clothes?" Ginny asks. "You can take that closet. Or we can share one, we both know we'll never need this much space." Ginny looks almost hopeful at sharing, I wonder wh-

Ohhhh, right. She'd been complaining for some time about the second hand robes, and Papa had let me splurge a little with getting a few extra uniforms. "We can share." I say, picking the closet between our beds.

"Great!" She sounds overjoyed.

"Is that last bed taken?" Bullocks! I'd forgotten that there were four beds in this room. Ms Granger was already shaping up to be the perfect roommate for me and Ginny: quiet. So who do I see when I look towards the door?

"It is now. Do you need any help with your trunk?" Yes, Carus Black. Once again. I'm almost tempted to think she's stalking me.

"Yes, please." Well, she's been polite enough, I suppose. And at least she isn't technically a 'new face' anymore. Ginny runs off to help her, while I continue unpacking. Deciding to be helpful, I start unpacking Ginny's clothes as well – apparently she'd been holding off on unpacking hers as well. And judging from the state of some of her uniform, I'm not surprised. It's not that their dirty or tattered, they're just obviously second hand (if not third or fourth). She'll not be wearing those if I can help it, so I tuck back into her trunk where they'll be forgotten.

And just in time for Lady Black and her handmaiden to re-enter our humble abode. "So the two of you'll be sharing a closet? Lucky for me. I'd been worrying I wouldn't have enough closet space for my things." Oh joy.

**_8-8_**

**_End of Fourth Reading_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: So Sarah, Ginny, Herione and Carrie are sharing a room? How could that possibly go wrong?_**

**_Well, until next time, Darlings! R&R!_**


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